'I hadn't meant to paint in the dogs,' Mac said. 'But when I was doing the preliminary drawings, the bloody animals wouldn't leave.'
He'd depicted them in a garden, though Isabella knew he'd likely done all the sittings right here. The picture was full of bright summer flowers and twining vines, the landscape flowing into recognizable mountains, the ones near Kilmorgan.
The colors were vivid, and a large pitcher on the ground held a bouquet of yellow roses. The yellow roses shouted
Isabella pressed her hands together, eyes blurring with tears. Her children, two she'd had with Mac, one adopted to save from a wretched life, were bright and beautiful on the canvas. Mac had captured them as only Mac could, not stiffly posed, but laughing and playing as they loved to.
'Oh, Mac, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.'
'A bit slapdash,' Mac said in his careless way. 'Our children do not like sitting still. The dogs were better behaved.'
Isabella turned in his arms, even if it meant she had to look away from the wonderful painting.
'Don't you dare belittle that picture. It is beautiful, the best thing you've ever done.'
'I don't know. There was a Venetian view that I thought turned out rather well--' Isabella placed her fingers over Mac's mouth. 'Stop.'
He grinned, eyes shining. 'I was teasing. The Venetian paintings were bloody awful.'
'Shush,' Isabella said, her voice softer.
She lifted her fingers away and replaced them with her lips. 'I love you, Mac Mackenzie.' She kissed him again. 'Thank you. It's a marvelous gift.' One straight from his heart.
Mac slid his arms around her. 'The ball is beginning,' he reminded her, but his voice was low, coaxing, his smile hot.
'Bother the ball,' Isabella said, and drew her husband close once more.
*** *** *** Cameron danced well, Louisa observed from where she sat against the gilded wall next to her mother.
He swung Ainsley around in exuberance, her gown billowing, his kilt pressing her legs. He danced closer than decorum decreed, even between husband and wife--especially between husband and wife these days.
Husbands were meant to leave their baser needs to their mistresses.
Very silly, Louisa thought. She'd seen how happy Isabella had grown under Mac's rather indecorous attentions. Anytime Isabella was caught kissing her husband, she blushed rosy pink, but not with shame.
Come to think of it, Isabella and Mac weren't in the ballroom at all. Ian and Beth stayed in a corner, Beth conversing with Elliot McBride and his wife, Ian drinking whiskey and pretending to converse.
Louisa craned to look around the room. Ainsley and Cameron danced, Hart strolled about, talking to guests alone, Eleanor having retreated again to her bedchamber. Daniel . . .
'Dance with me, Louisa.'
Daniel didn't give Louisa much chance to refuse. He pulled her to her feet and swung her into the waltz in the space of a breath.
He danced with the exuberance of his father, but with the vigor of a boy. Louisa spun around and around, and she began to laugh.
'Did you feel sorry for me?' Louisa asked. 'The poor wallflower?' Wallflowers were able to observe much, however, such as which gentlemen might be eligible at the marriage mart come spring.
'No, I saw a beautiful woman who should dance. Ah, Louisa, if I were a wee bit older . . .'
'You would still not be ready for courting,' Louisa finished.
Daniel laughed. 'Aye, that's so. I have a few wild oats to sow yet.'
Louisa laughed with him. It was impossible not to like Danny. 'Not the most complimentary thing to tell a young woman who's condescended to dance with you.'
'No, but you're family. I have no secrets from you.'
'I'm not sure whether to be flattered or frightened.'
'Flattered, love. It's not everyone gets to be welcomed into this family. Most run far from us or refuse to like us. Can't think why.'
'You're ridiculous, Daniel Mackenzie.'
'Ah, she cuts me to the quick. You are lovely, Louisa. Remember that. Worthy of any gentleman who chooses you. And the Mackenzie family embraces you with open arms.'
Louisa's eyes narrowed. She wondered whether Isabella had spread the news that Louisa wanted to marry, but she squelched the thought. Isabella wasn't one to betray confidences from her sister.
No, she wasn't sure what Daniel had in mind. She also noticed he'd danced her to the far end of the ballroom, near the open doors to the corridor beyond. The music ceased, the dancers applauded the musicians, and they drifted from the floor to wait for the next set, probably a Scottish reel Louisa still hadn't learned.
'Shall I fetch you an ice?' Daniel asked. 'Walk ye back to your mother? Kiss you in the corridor? The mistletoe is just there, see?' He pointed to the sprig hanging down from the chandelier in the middle of the deserted hall.
'No, thank you, to any of those,' Louisa said. 'I hear the fiddles going for a Scottish tune, which you might want to run off and join.'
Daniel stood tall and looked down his nose at her. 'A gentleman does not desert a lady.'
'This lady prefers to walk in the cool hall a moment, alone. You do rather dance one's breath away, Danny.'
Daniel executed a deep bow, ruining his dignified look by breaking into a wide grin. 'M' heart shatters that you send me away, but never let it be said I pushed my attentions onto an unwilling lady. Good evening, dear Aunt-in-law.'
So saying he whirled, kilt swinging, and ran back for the ballroom, narrowly missing a footman carrying a tray of champagne.
Louisa walked on down the hall, trying to slow her breathing. She'd sent Daniel away not only because she wanted to recover from the dance, but because she'd glimpsed a man in black disappear down this hall, one who looked like a Mackenzie and not at the same time.
But he'd vanished, to her disappointment. Ah, well. Probably for the best. But it would have been nice to speak to him one last time before she and Mama departed for London to prepare for the Season.
Perhaps he'd gone into the sitting room at the end of the short hall, beckoning with its open doors. She avoided the place where the mistletoe hung and made for the sitting room, satin skirts in hand.
The room was empty. A fire had been lit here for the guests, but the guests remained in the colorful ballroom. The hall bent beyond the sitting room, she saw, ending in a flight of dark steps leading upward.
Louisa hid a sigh. Likely Mr. Fellows had gone upstairs, retiring to his chamber. She knew that he felt a bit out of place among the Mackenzie guests, as Louisa sometimes did herself.
She turned firmly away, ready to return to her mother and put the man out of her mind . . . and ran straight into Mr. Fellows.
'Oh.' The word escaped Louisa's mouth before she could stop it. 'I mean, good evening, Mr.
Fellows.'
Fellows took a step back, then he bowed, the bow stiff, as though he forced himself to remember conventional politeness. 'Lady Louisa.'
'It's . . . well . . . I . . .' At supper she'd been able to be gracious and decorous, but now her polish and training deserted her. She roved her gaze over him, trying frantically to think of something to say, then she looked again. 'You're wearing a kilt.'
Mr. Fellows spoke in his usual dry tone. 'Hart Mackenzie's gift to me.'
'You weren't wearing it at supper.'
'His wife persuaded me to don it for the ballroom. However I doubt there will be any Scottish dancing for me.'
'Nor for me. I haven't yet mastered the steps.'
Mr. Fellows cleared his throat. 'Then perhaps you would like to sit?'
