If Mr. Godfrey had arrived as expected, I would have been able to broach the matter with him in as delicate a way as possible, but unfortunately, that was not an option. Instead, I stayed awake until late that evening composing letters to assuage any concerns harbored by our suppliers.

  When I made my way to partake of breakfast the next morning, I stopped in front of Father’s portrait and straightened my cuffs. Even in his nearly unrecognizable likeness, I thought I saw a self-congratulatory glint in his eye, as though he had planned all of this. “Sins of the father indeed,” I said.

  I turned my head at the sound of footsteps nearby. Mrs. Boyle emerged from Miss Godfrey’s room, her face dangerously near purple, and the vein in her forehead pulsating above the murderous expression she wore.

  “I’ll throttle her!” she said, her eyes forward as she made her way toward the stairs.

  “Mrs. Boyle,” I said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “What is it?”

  She set her hands on her ample hips. “Yer intended, my lord, fancied herself a queen last night and decided ‘twas fittin’ for her ta sleep in the king’s own bed.”

  My brows shot up. Miss Godfrey had slept in the royal apartments? “Are you certain?”

  “Aye, sir, for one of the maids went ta dust and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw her in the bed.”

  I felt a strange desire to laugh. If Miss Godfrey was intent on making certain she was taken seriously at Lochlarren, she had hit upon a very effective way to do so. I couldn’t but admire her pluck.

  I suppressed my amusement, as Mrs. Boyle’s temper was only being contained with great effort.

  Her lips pressed together in a line so tight I thought they might disappear. “She’s done it ta spite me!”

  My brows shot up. “Has she?”

  “Aye, my lord.” She narrowed her eyes, looking past me at nothing in particular. “I saw the look in her eye last night.”

  “What occurred last night?”

  “She informed me she’d made Dolly her own lady’s maid. She claims ye agreed ta the change in position.”

  “I did. She must have a lady’s maid, Mrs. Boyle, and the decision of who to employ should be hers.” It occurred to me that I had not spoken to Mrs. Boyle about her treatment of Miss Godfrey—and apparently, that had been a great mistake. It was clear the two had been quarreling.

  “But ye didna give her permission ta sleep in the king’s bed, did ye?”

  “No,” I conceded. “I did not.”

  Her chest rose in indignation, the fire reignited in her eyes. She stared ahead, as though she could see through the walls to where Miss Godfrey was sleeping.

  “Stay, Mrs. Boyle,” I said. “I shall speak to her. I appreciate your long-suffering with our guests. Of course, you must feel free to employ a replacement maid immediately. You had mentioned a niece of yours looking for work, had you not?”

  She nodded. “Aye, sir. And a fine lass she is.”

  “Then let her be the one to take Dolly’s place. As for Miss Godfrey’s night in the state rooms, let us say nothing more of it. I cannot think the bed likely to host a truly royal guest in the near future—or distant future, if I am being frank—so the laundering of these linens should be the least pressing of your worries.”

  She looked down at her burden and sniffed. “’Tis the principle of the thing, my lord.”

  I suppressed a chuckle. “I quite understand, but unfortunately for us, principle does not pay the creditors.”

  “It should do.” She shook her head. “Ta think of ye havin’ ta marry so far below yerself, my lord. ’Tis almost more than I can bear.”

  I squeezed her hand, both amused and touched by her consideration for my pride. “I hope you will try, for I need you here. I would like to make Miss Godfrey as comfortable as possible going forward. I let my pride get the best of me upon her arrival, but I have repented and mean to be better. Will you help me?”

  She met my gaze, her mouth twisting to the side. I was asking a great deal of her. But finally, she nodded.

  I gave her a bracing smile and made my way to the tower that housed the royal apartments, the ghost of a smile on my lips as I planned how to approach the situation.

  The door to the bedchamber was cracked, undoubtedly left so after the hurry in which the maid left. I stayed outside the door for a moment, listening for any movement within. There was none.

  My smile grew as I imagined Miss Godfrey’s surprise upon waking to find me staring over her in the bed. Gently, I urged the door open. Thanks to the care Mrs. Boyle took, it was one of the only doors in the castle that did not squeak. These apartments were her pride and joy, and she made sure everything was in perfect order in the event the Prince Regent or King George dropped in on us at any moment.

  In short, Miss Godfrey could not have chosen a more certain way to infuriate the housekeeper.

  I stepped into the room, preparing to clear my throat loudly. I stopped short, however, at the sight of Miss Godfrey asleep. She was nearly drowning in the voluptuous crimson bedcovers, one hand cradling her cheek, the other stretching above her head. Her expression was peaceful and pleasant, no fieriness, no arrogance, no teasing.

  I don’t know what I had expected. Had I thought she slept with a smirk?

  I stared and stared, trying to make sense of what I was feeling. Rattled, perhaps? Uncertain? What was she dreaming about so peacefully? Perhaps it was her life in town. Had she left someone there she cared for?

  I hardly knew anything about her, and what I had thought I knew had been called into question.

  Whatever the case, I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. After a few more moments, I turned and left her to her slumber.

  A clatter belowstairs interrupted my perusal of the latest payments approved by my steward, Cairnie. I paused, then returned to my work when no further disruption occurred. I had been here since breakfast and my legs were begging me to stand.

  A second sound pierced the silence, and I rose, following the noise and laughter as it grew louder.

  I came to a halt at the bottom of the narrow staircase. “What the devil?”

  Miss Godfrey sat atop a bay mount, her riding habit flowing over the saddle and down the side. She looked majestic, as though she was riding the moors rather than inside my castle entry hall. Iain stood just beside her, his eyes pinned on the pocket watch he held.

  Neither seemed to have heard me, and I couldn’t blame them, for there was a great thundering of clopping hooves and unintelligible yelling in the wide, main staircase. Seconds later, Blair emerged from those stairs on horseback.

  “Eighteen!” Iain shouted once he reached the bottom.

  Both he and Miss Godfrey set to clapping and cheering. Blair grinned, bending at the waist in a half-bow to accept their congratulations as his horse huffed and sidled.

  “Your turn, Miss Godfrey,” Iain said. “If you are certain you are equal to it.” He cocked a provocative brow.

  Miss Godfrey let out a scoff. “Watch and learn, sir.”

  I stepped forward to stop her, but it was too late. She kicked at her horse’s flanks, and he went charging up the stairs with her atop.

  “What in heaven’s name?”

  Miss Lowe had joined me in slack-jawed, wide-eyed observation of the chaos. I hadn’t a thought to spare for her, though, as I hurried over to the bottom of the staircase to see what madness was happening there—and to prepare to run after Miss Godfrey and prevent tragedy.

  But Miss Godfrey had a fine seat, the likes of which I was only able to see for a moment before she rounded the bend in the stairs and disappeared.

  My heart raced, and my ears strained for a sound to indicate anything was amiss. But soon enough, the clatter of hooves drew nearer again, and she reappeared, leaning back in her seat to counter the forces at work on the descent. Her brows were drawn in concentration, but she wore a smile.

  If she had been the personification of slumbering peace in the royal apartments two hours ago, now she was that of bright-eyed adventure and daring.

  Or perhaps utter disregard for safety and propriety.

  “Sixteen!” Iain called out as she reached the bottom of the staircase.

  He and Blair clapped and cheered raucously, their admiration evident in the way they looked at her. Following Blair’s example, Miss Godfrey let go of the reins with one hand and dipped into a seated curtsy. Though meant to be amusing, it was as elegant as her riding had been adept.

  “Would one of you care to explain this madness?” I turned my gaze on my brothers.

  “The fault does not lie with them,” Miss Godfrey said, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth stretched in an energetic smile. “I insisted on being included in the bet.”

  “Juliana,” Miss Lowe cried.

  “Forgive me, cousin,” she said without seeming the least bit apologetic. She rubbed at her mount’s neck appreciatively as he clopped around the entry hall—to cool down, I could only assume. “You know I have been wishing for a chance to ride. I simply couldn’t resist—particularly not when odds were offered.”

  “What is the bet?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

  Iain grinned. “Who could race up and down the stairs most quickly, obviously. So far, Miss Godfrey is the winner at sixteen seconds. But I have yet to take my turn, so I think we can safely say the best is yet to be witnessed.”

  Miss Godfrey only laughed at this, and I was distracted for a moment. Though she raced horses inside Lochlarren, this was one of the few times since I met her that she seemed sane. Normal and natural in her behavior. Yesterday’s behavior from her did not seem to be chance occurrences, then.

  “Conveniently for you,” Blair said to Iain as he dismounted, “your attempt is unlikely to be witnessed at all.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Sandy disapproves.”

  “Of course I do,” I replied as Miss Lowe nodded her agreement.

  Iain and Blair shared grimacing looks. I glanced at Miss Godfrey, whose smile had been replaced by something more serene. Everyone was waiting for me to express further disapproval and put a stop to things.

  “Fifteen seconds should be more than sufficient,” I said.

  Heads whipped around, eyes fixed upon me, none more astonished than Miss Lowe’s. I purposely avoided her eye. I had spent the last few weeks drowning in accounts and creditor letters. I was ready for a bit of amusement—and to encourage the change in Miss Godfrey. If she could play so nicely with Iain and Blair, perhaps she could do so with me, as well.

  “Very well, then,” Miss Godfrey said, putting out a hand to Iain, who assisted her down from her horse. She gave him the reins, then took the ones from the horse Blair had ridden and held them out to me, her eyes holding a challenge. “Show us the proper way, my lord.”

  Our gazes held for a moment, and I felt a flash of something new for the capable woman before me—a reluctance to look away from the roguish challenge in her eyes.

  “Well?” Iain said impatiently.

  I took the reins, put a foot in the stirrup, and swung my leg over the saddle.

  “Miss Godfrey,” I said, eyeing Iain’s pocket watch. “Perhaps you will do me the service of ensuring my brother stays honest in his measurements.”

  Iain scoffed, but Miss Godfrey nodded. “Everything shall be above board, my lord.”

  “I thank you.” I steered the horse toward the bottom of the stairs. “By the by, what does the winner of the wager receive?”

  “You need not concern yourself with that,” Miss Godfrey replied, smiling at me serenely as she stroked the neck of her horse. “It is highly unlikely to affect you.”

  “Juliana,” Miss Lowe said in that same shocked tone.

  I laughed, well able to appreciate a competitive spirit. Iain and Blair found it highly amusing as well, and both of them regarded her with admiration. How rapidly their opinions of her had changed. Apparently, all they had needed was a show of adventure from her. The saber fight alone had likely been sufficient.

  “Ready,” Iain said as my mount sidled anxiously, sensing my eagerness. “Steady. Go!”

  With a kick, my horse shot forward, and I leaned my body toward his head. We raced up the broad stairs, veering with the bend of the stairway. An echo of hooves filled the space as I counted the seconds in my head. We climbed to the landing, pivoting to make our descent. With a little effort, I successfully maneuvered my mount around the old set of armor there. Blasted thing!

  My horse lost his footing midway down the stairwell but recovered himself—and I my seat—quickly enough. We sailed over the last three steps and into the entry hall as Iain called out, “Sixteen and a half!”

  “I measured sixteen even,” Miss Godfrey said.

  I shot a look at Iain.

  “The extra half-second is penalty for Sandy’s braggadocio. Either way, it matters not a jot.” He handed the watch to Miss Godfrey and urged me out of the saddle with an impatient hand. “I shall beat all three of you now.”

  I dismounted to make way for him, then stepped to Miss Godfrey’s side to supervise the timing of Iain’s attempt. I shot a quick glance at Miss Lowe, who was standing at the far wall, her hands clasped and her lips pursed. I had no qualms relinquishing the role of the responsible party into her capable hands. I was tired of playing that part, at least for today.

  Despite Iain’s boastful predictions, the clattering of the suit of armor upstairs did not bode well for his effort. Blair, Miss Godfrey, and I were unanimous in declaring his time eighteen seconds.

  “Eighteen and a half for your braggadocio,” Miss Godfrey amended.

  I glanced at her in amusement.

  Iain’s demands for a repeat fell on deaf ears. Even Miss Lowe declared everything had been done fairly, a statement she could hardly lay claim to, as she had arrived late, just as I had.

  He finally surrendered, making Miss Godfrey and I both claimant to the prize, whatever that was.

  “What do you say, my lord?” she asked. “Would you like to make the attempt again to ensure a clear winner? Or would you prefer to split our winnings evenly?”

  I furrowed my brow. “These winnings you speak of . . . are they the ones you said would not affect me?”

  She inclined her head in apology. “An error of judgment on my part.”

  I copied her gesture, accepting her admission, then leaned in to speak in a low voice. “I fear Miss Lowe will faint if we make another attempt.”

  Miss Godfrey glanced at her cousin. “She is well-accustomed to my shocking behavior. Split the winnings, then?”

  I tipped my head from side to side. “I am rather a selfish man, Miss Godfrey, and find myself reluctant to do so.”

  “Despite having no notion what the winnings are?” she said, diverted.

  She was right, of course. I was making no sense. But having seen this side of her, I was reluctant to put an end to things. The woman beside me now was someone I could bear to marry much more easily than the stiff, arrogant one I had first met. “One cannot put a price on victory.”

  She considered me for a moment, her brown eyes fixed upon me. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Ghillie callum!” Iain said from behind us, surprising us both with his proximity.

  I shot him a look, and Miss Godfrey’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What was that?”

  “Ghillie callum,” I repeated. “It is a traditional Highland dance, using two crossed swords. And not at all what I had in mind.” I squared Iain with another look to let him know what I thought of his suggestion.

  “A sword dance,” Miss Godfrey said. “It sounds intriguing, though, forgive me, but I am unclear how one might win a sword dance.”

  “If the swords are touched, the dance ends,” Iain explained.

  “When they were done as war dances,” Blair said, stepping toward us, with one of the horses following behind, “displacing a sword was thought to be a bad omen, foretelling loss or defeat. I heard of a chief who, when a dancer kicked a sword by accident the night before battle, took the sword and beheaded him.”

  “Thank you for that, Blair,” I said, suppressing an eye roll. “Why don’t you and Iain take the horses back to the stables?”

  They grumbled but obeyed. I turned back to Miss Godfrey, who was speaking to her cousin. Miss Lowe nodded at her, then looked at me consideringly, as though she was loath to leave.

  Did she think me untrustworthy? That I would force myself upon Miss Godfrey the moment she left?

  I gave her a smiling nod, and she reluctantly left via the stairs that led to her bedchamber.

  “So, ghillie callum?” Miss Godfrey said.

  “Pay no heed to my brothers. Most of what they say is ridiculous.”

  She raised her brows. “You do not wish to challenge me at sword dancing, then?”

  I paused, trying to read her expression. “Do you wish to challenge me?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “If I am to become the Countess of Lismore, I should be better acquainted with the traditions of the Highlands. So far, I have eaten a traditional meal without the use of a fork, slept in a peat-saturated room, and participated in clan feuding practice. Why not Ghillie callum?”

  I gave a soft laugh, still unsure what to make of today’s version of Miss Godfrey—or of the way she spoke of becoming my wife. I hadn’t thought she would truly be interested in our traditions. I was finding myself wrong multiple times a day since her arrival.

  “Though,” she continued, “if you mean to behead me if I happen to nudge one of the swords, I may reconsider.”

  “There shall be no beheadings,” I reassured her.

  “And you will teach me how to perform the dance before we challenge one another?”

  “To the best of my poor abilities, yes. If you wish for it.”

 

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