“Kent?” Mr. Worthington said to Robert. “How delightful. We hail from Surrey!”
They were eating breakfast in the great hall—the table in the drawing room, where they usually dined, was too small for both the Townsends and all of the guests. Unfortunately, the hall—which had been built sometime in the fifteenth century with the aim of containing a large number of people rather than comfort—was a drafty place with shadows lurking in the corners. Even in the summer, even with a fire blazing in the massive hearth, the room was still on the cool side.
When the Townsends had first arrived at Llynmore Castle, several parts of it had been in disrepair, half the rooms unused, dark and dusty, old furniture covered with sheets. During the past two years, Theo and Annabel had begun to slowly update the castle, focusing first on the great hall.
A timber ceiling, beams painted in bright yellow with diamonds of blue and red, had been installed in the hall, and the cracked plaster over the stone walls was redone in bright white paint. Lush rugs rested in the middle of the floor, and richly colored tapestries lined the wall.
At times like this, it wasn’t difficult to imagine this room as the bustling place it had once been.
“And Lord Arden had no idea he was the heir to an earldom?” Worthington continued.
“None,” Georgina said.
“It’s almost as good as fiction.”
“My husband is a writer,” Mrs. Worthington explained. “He’s always looking for stories of interest.”
“What sort of things do you write?” Frances asked him, perking up with interest. Frances had, in her youth, been an actress for a short time. It was a fact she didn’t divulge to casual acquaintances, but she still delighted in things that were on the borderline of respectable.
“Travel journals.” Frances looked disappointed at this, but Mr. Worthington didn’t notice. “It’s why we’re in the Highlands, in fact. I’m working on a memoir of our journey.”
Robert felt a flash of unease. The Townsends already had a reputation for eccentricity, between Theo’s penchant for seclusion and Eleanor’s recent marriage to a former prizefighter.
They weren’t scorned because the Arden earldom was an old one, and though not the wealthiest earldom around, their landholdings were nothing to scoff at. But the last thing Theo would want was someone writing all about them for the world to see. If there was one thing his brother valued, it was privacy.
Robert caught the gaze of Miss Worthington, who sat across from him, and she smiled. She was an attractive woman with large brown eyes and a gently sloping face. There were no sharp edges to her, just a rounded chin, soft cheekbones, and pillowy lips. “This is the first time I’ve been outside England,” she said.
“And how are you finding it?” Robert asked.
“It’s quite…remote, at times.” And then she added quickly, “Though it is beautiful, of course.”
He smiled to reassure her. “I understand what you mean.”
“I’ve read books about the Highlands. I’m quite fond of Walter Scott’s poems, but reading about Scotland does not quite do it justice.”
Robert didn’t like to think of Walter Scott.
Because when Robert thought of Walter Scott, he inevitably thought of Ian Cameron. When Robert had first seen Cameron, he’d been in a green and brown kilt—he didn’t always wear it. He seemed to switch between trousers and the traditional Highland garment fairly easily.
On this first encounter—which hadn’t been much of an encounter at all—Robert had been walking and found himself near Cameron’s cottage. The man was digging a plot for a garden, hair tousled and glinting like copper under the sun, kilt rippling a bit in the wind. He remembered thinking Walter Scott would probably salivate if he’d seen Cameron—the proud Highlander, working the land. Walter Scott seemed to have a tendre for that sort of thing.
For some reason, he hadn’t stopped to introduce himself. Cameron hadn’t looked up, and Robert had continued on.
“And how are you liking it?” Georgina asked Mr. Hale, who sat next to her. The traveling group consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, their daughter, Alice Worthington, and a Mr. and Miss Hale, who were the niece and nephew of Mr. Worthington.
John Hale, a curly-haired, pale fellow whom Robert suspected wasn’t terribly fond of the outdoors, was quite reserved. His sister, Catherine Hale, while similar in looks, seemed to be the opposite in personality.
“It is…” Mr. Hale paused, as though trying to articulate his thoughts. “Very—”
Miss Hale jumped in, the dark curls at her temple practically quivering in excitement. “Remarkable. I’ve never felt more alive than I have these past weeks.”
Her brother lapsed into silence, staring down at the herring on his plate as though he might be trying to commune with it.
“Do you think the earl will be back soon?” she continued. “I’ve never met an earl.”
Mrs. Worthington gave a little sigh.
“Not for a few weeks yet,” Robert said amiably.
“We could stay a few weeks, couldn’t we?” She looked toward her uncle.
Mr. Worthington shook his head. “We could stay a week or so, perhaps, but we must be continuing on at some point.”
“But surely you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Townsend?” Miss Hale shot him a winning smile.
He had a feeling Miss Hale was a girl who was used to getting what she wanted.
Miss Worthington caught his gaze again, this time with a flash of sympathy in her eyes. “Of course not,” Robert said, “but I think Mr. Worthington has already made his plans.”
“Mr. Cameron,” Georgina said suddenly, looking past Robert’s head, “join us!”
Robert glanced back. Cameron had stopped, one foot across the threshold and one foot behind, as though he’d seen them all and begun to rethink his decision. On Georgina’s insistence, he’d been dining with the family on the somewhat rare occasions when he wasn’t busy with other work.
Robert could understand her reasoning—the housemaids and the cook ate together in the kitchen. Cameron, who wasn’t really a house servant, but also wasn’t part of the family, would have been eating alone.
But whatever formalities they shunned in private, it was a little different when they had guests. Georgina should have just let him retreat before anyone had noticed he was there. He didn’t belong at the table, and Robert doubted he would feel comfortable there, either. The whole situation would probably just end up as fodder for Mr. Worthington’s book—they were oddly friendly with the servants. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d had housemaids at the table!
Trapped, Cameron came forward, and Robert was forced to make introductions. If the Worthingtons thought it was odd that their factor was eating with them, they politely didn’t remark on it.
After Cameron filled his plate at the sideboard, he took the empty seat by Georgina. Robert couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d seen him, in just his shirtsleeves. Now he wore a plain but sturdy black coat and tan waistcoat. A cravat was knotted simply at his throat.
Miss Hale stared at Cameron’s profile—winged eyebrows, a straight, broad nose, thin lips, and a hard, square jaw. He was striking, not exactly handsome, but certainly compelling to look at. His face was slightly weathered from the work he did outdoors, his skin a little tanned. Ian Cameron was a young man—no more than five years or so older than Robert—but Robert felt the differences between them when he looked in the mirror.
“You’re a real Highlander?” Miss Hale blurted out.
Cameron blinked at her. “Aye.”
“But you’re dressed like an Englishman.”
“I wasna aware I had to dress a certain way to be a real Highlander.” Cameron’s voice was polite, his expression bland, but his eyes had narrowed slightly, a tiny line appearing between his eyebrows. Robert had never noticed this sign of displeasure before, and even knowing it, it was subtle.