Page 3 of Grace in Glasgow (Seduced in Scotland #3)

“G oodness! This house is impressive,” Arabella said to Grace, as she leaned over the polished banister in the foyer.

While Aunt Belle and her faithful manservant, Andrews, took stock of the study at the back of the house’s ground floor, which would be converted into a bedroom since Aunt Belle had trouble climbing stairs, the two ladies followed the middle-aged house maid, Mrs. Stevens, who had been instructed to show them their rooms. “I’ve never seen such dark colors used for wallpaper.

And there’s so many statues and busts. Your aunt must be a great collector. ”

Grace smirked at her friend’s wonder as she held a small, three-legged tabby cat to her chest. Arabella had held the kitten most of the way to Glencoe, while Aunt Belle slept and Grace had read a series of her aunt’s pamphlets on a housing crisis that was currently sweeping the country, particularly in the cities.

The severity of what she had read caused her a bit of anxiety and so she had put down the politically charged paper and picked up a cat instead.

“Look at that painting!” Arabella said, pointing to a sizeable portrait of King George IV. It was a profile painting of the former monarch, his hair upturned in regency fashion. Arabella bent slightly backwards. “That’s him, isn’t it? Your aunt’s former lover?”

“Yes.”

“He must have cared for her very much to leave her such a collection.”

In truth, Aunt Belle cared very little for the art world, and these relics that lined the walls were actually bits and pieces of the private collection of King George IV.

Her aunt once having been the favorite mistress of his majesty, Grace was curious to know if these pieces had been gifts from the king or, if rumors were to be believed, pieces that he had lost gambling.

Though whether he had lost to Aunt Belle or she had gone off and bought them all back from their winners, Grace did not know.

“Aunt Belle is an enthusiastic collector of things,” she said, as she bent down to let the cat go, as they reached the landing.

Aunt Belle was a collector, of newspaper clippings and gossip pages, but mostly she seemed to collect people.

Friends and family had been elusive in her young life as the mistress of the king and she had come to cherish those close to her, having been particularly pleased when Grace and her sisters had come to live with her nearly two years ago.

“This will be your room, my lady,” Mrs. Stevens said as she opened a door at the end of the hallway. It was south facing, and the bright midday sun shone through the glass windows that stood floor to ceiling along the front of the house.

“Oh, my goodness,” Arabella gasped, spinning around the room as Grace followed.

With cream and yellow striped walls, the room was a vision of sunshine and loveliness.

The canopy was covered in lace that matched the curtains and bedding, and fine maple furnishings practically glowed in the bathing sunlight.

“If this isn’t the prettiest room I’ve ever seen! ”

Grace smiled politely, but there was something odd about this room. A melancholy took hold of her the moment she entered and it wasn’t until moments later that her usually fast mind realized why.

This room was decorated in the same delicate style as her grandmother Alice’s home in London.

It shouldn’t make her so sad, especially since she often missed her grandmother, but being in Glasgow to study medicine, well, that would have been an impossibility with Aunt Belle’s sister.

Grandma Alice and Aunt Belle were vastly different in their manners as well as their approach to life.

Where Alice had been strict and steadfast to the proper, upper-class upbringing of gentle bred ladies, Belle had insisted on free thinking and independent spirits.

While Grace was thankful to have been blessed with such an aunt, it made her feel guilty from time to time, to think of what her grandmother would have thought of her choices.

“Shoo!” Mrs. Stevens said as the three-legged kitten began to scratch at the bedding. “Go on, get.”

“Sorry about him, Mrs. Stevens,” Grace said, quickly approaching as she scooped him up. “He’s a bit anxious from the carriage ride.”

“He’s only got three legs. What good is he?”

“Oh, but he’s very good at catching mice. Even more so than the other cats kept in the stables at Lismore Hall, but I think it is because he’s trying to prove himself. Isn’t that right, Penguin?”

Mrs. Stevens blinked.

“What did you call him?”

“Penguin. Mr. Penguin, considering his coloring,” Grace explained. “He’s been following me the last two months, since he was born. One of the stable hands wanted to drown him, on account of his deformity, but I couldn’t let him. Now, he won’t leave me be.”

“Right, well, come along,” Mrs. Stevens said skeptically to Arabella, whose eyes hadn’t come down from the ceiling.

“Wait,” Grace said, stepping in front of her. “Arabella, you wouldn’t wish to stay in this room, would you?”

Her friend frowned.

“Oh, but I shan’t. This is your room.”

“Yes, my lady. Lady Belle specifically said that this was to be your room. It overlooks the crescent gardens. See?”

Grace and Arabella walked to the windows and sure enough, the gardens were in perfect view from the cushioned settee.

“I know, and I appreciate that, but the sun, you see. It bothers my eyes the way it reflects off the pages of my books and I do intend on doing a lot of reading while we are here. I think a north facing window may be gentler on my vision.”

A single brow on Mrs. Stevens’ face rose as if she didn’t believe such nonsense, but Arabella reached for Grace’s hand.

“If you are sure?”

“Quite.”

“Then of course I will,” she said cheerfully. “What luck! Now, let us see your room.”

Mrs. Stevens led the way, back down the hallway to the rear end of the terrace.

This room was square, with deep pink and mauve wallpaper and darker, heavier furnishings than the first room, but Grace was pleased.

The windows overlooked the street behind theirs, with a handsome row of white stone terraces that went all the way left and all the way right.

This was perfect. No distractions would cause her to abandon her studies when they became too difficult. No vague haunting of her grandmother scolding her for bringing books to the dining room table. Yes, a room in the back of the house was just what she needed.

Deciding to change out of her traveling clothes, Grace waited for a maid to brush out the wrinkles of one of her gowns that had been brought up in a chest that had arrived only an hour earlier.

It was a simple white dress with tiny peach-colored blooms that was perhaps too lightweight for the weather, but it was one of Grace’s favorites.

“May I help you, my lady?” Mrs. Stevens offered. “Or mayhap Bethany here might assist you.”

“No, thank you. I can manage on my own.”

The housekeeper didn’t move while the maid Bethany glanced at her.

“Are you sure, my lady?”

“Yes, very much so. Please.”

Grace held her outstretched hand toward the door and waited until both Mrs. Stevens and Bethany left, closing the door behind them. Sighing, she began to unbutton the front of her dark green travel gown when a small, silver locket bumped against her palm.

Pausing in her undress, Grace held up the piece to inspect it as she did nearly every night.

Mrs. Fletcher, her friend who was often called the Witch of Glencoe, had given her the locket not a week prior.

She had insisted Grace wear it for good health and while there was a crease that curved around the oval piece, Grace hadn’t been able to open it.

She doubted there was anything in it save for a sprig or two of water mint, one of the many herbs she had once gathered for Mrs. Fletcher when she was studying under Dr. Barkley.

Bringing the locket up to her nose, she inhaled.

It reminded her of the wide-open spaces of the Highlands and she was grateful to have such a wonderful gift, though she kept it hidden beneath her clothing.

Mrs. Fletcher had made her swear to keep it secret, and always willing to entertain the old woman, Grace had agreed.

Once changed, Grace headed downstairs to inspect the rest of the house that was to be her home for the next six months.

The house was wider than their London home, but shorter.

For instance, it only had two floors above the ground level, but it was equipped with a dining room, sitting room, study, library, and a parlor where one could receive guests.

The study, of course, had been transformed into a bedroom and it was there where Grace found her Aunt Belle.

“Oh no, none of this will do.” The seventy-six-year-old woman stood, shoulders pulled back beside a small hump that sat at the back of her neck. “Andrews? Help Chauncy move the bed away from the window. Ah,” she paused as she noticed Grace. “My dear. How did you find your room?”

“Ah, very well, thank you,” Grace said, unsure if she should mention that she had switched bedchambers. “Aunt Belle, since we’re a few days early, I was wondering if we might take a walking tour around our part of this city?”

“A walking tour?” Belle repeated, glancing down at her cane. “I’m not sure I’d be much use on a walking tour.”

“Actually, the exercise will do you good.”

“Oh no. Don’t you try and bully me like Barkley and Hall. I don’t care if you are my grandniece; I won’t be taking orders from you.” Grace waited patiently. “Besides, we’re having company this evening.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Hall, of course.”

Grace blinked.

“Dr. Hall? Is coming tonight? But I thought we wouldn’t see him for at least a few days.”

Aunt Belle frowned.

“That doesn’t sound like the excited reaction I was expecting from someone who has begged nearly every doctor and school in the country to let them study beneath.”

Grace was momentarily frozen before her head shook and she offered a false smile.