A Heart In The Highlands

3-3

The Duchess stared at her.

“A nonsensical suggestion,” she snapped. “The child was drowned.”

“Was her body recovered?” Iona asked.

The Duchess put out her hand.

“Let me see that letter.”

Iona handed it to her.

The Duchess slit open the envelope and drew out the closely written sheets of paper. She read them through carefully then lifted a small gold bell from the table beside her. It made a musical tinkle as she shook it. She looked again at the sheets of paper in her hand and then up at Iowa.

“A pretty story!” she sneered. “You have a great deal to gain if this is proved to be the truth.”

“I suppose so,” Iona agreed gravely.

“There is no need to look so innocent,” the Duchess said sarcastically. “You are doubtless well aware that the eldest daughter of the Duke of Arkrae on reaching twenty-one inherits special privileges and a fortune. Now that I think of it, I wonder there have not been more claimants to be the poor lost Lady Elspeth.”

Her tone brought the blood to Iona’s cheeks. She felt incensed by it and. realised with a sudden flash of humour that she was genuinely offended at the Duchess’s attitude. A footman came to the Duchess’s side.

“Inform His Grace I should be grateful of his presence here,” the Duchess said.

The footman bowed and went from the room. Iona felt her heart begin to beat a little quicker. Now at last she would see the Duke, see the man who was of such vital importance to the Prince.

They waited in silence. The Duchess did not speak again and Iona felt it would be presumptuous for her to say anything. She still stood, for she had not been invited to sit. Uncomfortable in the heat of the fire, she pulled back the hood from her head and was conscious, as she did so, of the contrast between herself, plainly dressed, her red curls rioting rebelliously over her small head, and the Duchess’s elegant gown and elaborately waved and powdered hair. There was a chain of emeralds and diamonds arranged by skilful fingers in the Duchess’s coiffure, which matched the wide necklace of emeralds and diamonds clasped around her thin neck.

A sudden idea presented itself to Iona’s mind. Might this lady be the Duke’s wife? But surely, she answered herself, the Duchess was too old for the Duke if Colonel Brett was right in supposing him to be about thirty?

Yet men did marry women older than themselves. If this then was the reigning Duchess, was there a Dowager Duchess who was the mother of Lady Elspeth? How many possibilities there were, how many problems? And again Iona remembered Hector’s warning.

The door at the end of the room was opening. She felt her eyes drawn towards it and awaited expectantly the Duke’s entry into the room. She saw a tall, broad shouldered figure wearing a coat of blue velvet embroidered with silver and sparkling with decorations. His hair was powdered and it was perhaps this last fact that for a moment blinded Iona to the truth.

Then, as he came nearer, crossing the room slowly with an unhurried dignity, she recognised him, recognised the handsome features, the cold aloof air, the dignity which was almost an arrogance and the irresistible authority which once before had made her obey his wordless command.

It was difficult for her to prevent herself from giving a cry of astonishment. Incredible though it seemed, the Duke was the tall stranger who had rescued her from the odious attentions of the amorous French roué.

For a second she thought wildly that already her plot was discovered. He had been in France – he was here. He knew why she had come, what planning and scheming was behind her visit. Then desperately she pulled herself together. It was a coincidence, a chance encounter that was all. The Duke could not have known where she was going that evening and had indeed shown little interest in her. He performed an act of mercy and that was all.

From a long distance it seemed to Iona she could hear the Duchess’s voice.

“I have something to show you, Ewan,” she said. “It is a letter brought by this girl from France purporting to show that she is your half-sister, Elspeth, who was drowned seventeen years ago.”

The Duke took the letter the Duchess held out to him, but ignoring it he looked straight at Iona.

It seemed to her there was no recognition in his eyes and she said nothing. She only met his glance, her head thrown back a little because he was so tall, her gaze steady beneath his, though something quivered within her.

“What is your name?” he asked.

His voice was quiet and courteous.

“I have been called Iona.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy him and he looked away from her to the sheets of paper he held in his hand. Impatiently the Duchess broke in.

“It is, of course, a preposterous tale,” she said. “Elspeth was drowned, there is surely no doubt about that? Who is this Jeannie MacLeod? I have never heard of her.”

The Duke raised his eyes from the paper.

“There is no reason why you should have,” he said. “She was my sister’s nurse – and mine.”

The Duchess shrugged her shoulders petulantly. The Duke merely glanced at her and then turned to Iona.

“Won’t you sit down?” he asked. “If you have indeed come from France, you must be fatigued for it is a tiring journey.”

With a gesture of his hand he indicated a chair opposite the Duchess beside the fireplace. Iona went to it, hoping that she held herself gracefully, and sat down. The Duke stood with his back to the fire between the two women and read the letter carefully, a quizzing glass raised to his eye. When he had finished, he folded the pages together.

“It speaks here of a miniature,” he said. “You have it with you?”

Iona held out to him the little packet containing both the miniature and the bracelet. The Duke opened it and took out the miniature, then stared at it for some seconds.

“Whom does it portray?” the Duchess inquired. “Let me see.”

“It is a miniature of my grandmother,” the Duke said quietly. “I cannot remember seeing it before, but it is a good likeness. There is a portrait of her to compare it with in the State dining room.”

The Duchess took the miniature from his hands, looked at it and then across at Iona.

“I suppose,” she said slowly and reluctantly, “that there is a –”

“ – distinct resemblance.” the Duke finished.

“Then – ” the Duchess began, and stopped. “But this is nonsensical! We must have more proof of this.”

“Of course! Who has suggested otherwise?”

The Duke turned to Iona.

“I think we should express our thanks to you for coming all this way from France with information which is, of course, of the greatest interest to me and my family. Please accept the hospitality of Skaig whilst investigations are made and your claim established. You will be aware that this will take time, but I can only hope that it will give us the opportunity of getting to know each other.”

“But, Ewan – ” the Duchess protested, “aren’t you assuming that this girl, of whom we know nothing, is indeed Elspeth?”

“I am assuming nothing,” the Duke replied. “This lady has made a claim which appears to be, on the face of it, a very reasonable one. It is for our attorneys to examine the proofs of its authenticity. In the meantime this lady will, I hope, accept our invitation.”

Iona found her voice.

“I thank Your Grace,” she said, “but perhaps under the circumstances it would be better for me to return to the inn until you have decided what would be the best course to pursue. I have kept the coach which conveyed me here and it can take me back.”

She was conscious as she spoke of going against Colonel Brett’s instructions, but somehow she felt that she could not force herself upon the Duchess.

Hospitality, unless freely given, would stifle her. It was then that the Duke smiled. To Iona’s surprise it transformed his face. The coldness vanished and he looked in that second younger and far more human.

“I cannot recommend the inn at Fort Augustus,” he said. “You had best stay with us at least until you have time to rest after your journey.”

“Thank you,” Iona said.

The Duchess got to her feet.

“I fail to understand your attitude, Ewan,” she said. “It seems to me all very peculiar. And what, may I ask, are we to call this – this – person until we learn if she is indeed your half-sister or an imposter?”

Again the Duke smiled.

“This lady has already told us her name, my dear, and to be sure it is a very charming and very Scottish name. To us, for the time being, she will be Miss Iona from – Paris.”

He looked at Iona as he spoke and now she knew that he had not forgotten. He, too, remembered that strange encounter in Paris.