Page 3 of Hope in the Highlands (Seduced in Scotland #1)

Hope gazed out the carriage window as it jostled forward, up through the stony hills and rough crags that had begun to crop up since leaving Cumbria. While the rolling hills to the south appeared like crushed, green velvet, these northern peaks of exposed rock and moss reminded Hope of a threadbare carpet laid over uneven ground.

She had imagined that Scotland would be a desolate place, composed of jagged cliffs and sharp rocks, but she had been mistaken. The vast countryside that seemed to go on forever was magnificent, and the further they rode north, the more she felt a sense of calm. It was the strangest feeling, but it felt like she was coming home.

“How much longer?” Faith asked.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Hope answered, remembering her grandmother’s words about patience.

She smiled sadly. At the end of the week after her grandmother’s demise, Hope and her sisters receive a letter from their aunt, Lady Belle. Upon learning about her sister’s death, their aunt insisted that they come north for at least the remainder of the year to mourn in privacy. It was a lifeline and they had jump at the chance, though Faith had been less pleased than both Hope and Grace to leave London behind.

Now, dressed in black, they traveled north through the Scottish Highlands. Hope was eager to finish their journey and find solace in the mountains.

“I wonder what it will be like, living with Aunt Belle,” Grace said. “Grandmother never let us ask her many questions.”

“Because she didn’t like her for some reason,” Faith said.

It was true. Alice had not liked Belle. Hope and her sisters didn’t know much about their great aunt, except that she was exceedingly rich. They had lived for the last seven years in Belle’s London home, but whenever Hope inquired about this enigmatic relative, her grandmother refused to share anything about her, except to say that they were sisters and not very close.

“I wonder why,” Grace said, mostly to herself as she gazed out the window.

“At least we’ve spent time with her ,” Hope said. “It would be terribly awkward to go live with someone we’ve never laid eyes on before.”

Five years prior, Hope had convinced her grandmother to invite Belle to London for Christmas so that they might show their appreciation for her generosity. It had been a tense meeting between the elderly sisters, but Belle had been courteous and kind. After that, she had spent every winter with them, much to Alice’s ire.

“I think we’ve arrived,” Grace said, her nose practically pressed against the glass.

All three sisters perked up and looked out their widow.

A gate pulled open as their carriage approached Lismore Hall and closed behind them. As the carriage continued, the trees parted to reveal a breathtaking home.

It was like something out of a picture book.

A four-story tower, along with a cap house and several turrets, sprung up behind a twelve-foot-high wall that surrounded the exterior of the building. The walls were divided by pilasters into sections, and each compartment had a niche above, containing statues of saints—or so Hope guessed as the carriage drove by. Those on the east wall had semi-circular pediments carved with scrolls, each ordained with the national symbol of the thistle.

Though the morning had been clean and bright, a thick mist hung over the grounds as they drew closer to the estate. Lismore seemed as if it were floating on a cloud.

A beaming Belle stood on a wide set of stone stairs, flanked by a slim young woman with frizzy blonde hair and freckles. She appeared serious for such a young lady, and Hope was curious about who she was.

A footman opened the door and helped Hope out, followed by her sisters. They came up the steps to meet Belle.

“My girls! My girls!” she hugged each of them as they reached her. It felt rather silly to be shown such affection, but then Belle always hugged them. “How was your voyage?”

“Long,” Grace said as she embraced the elderly woman. “But worth it to be out of London.”

“I can imagine,” she said, peering at each of them. She had heard of the disastrous scandal. “London becomes dreadful when gossip starts.”

Hope doubted Aunt Belle knew anything about living through London gossip. Grandmother always said her sister had been in Scotland for decades. She had married a wealthy man named George Smith, who had died shortly after their marriage. Apparently, she had been so devastated she had retired permanently after his death, apparently content to live in seclusion despite being rumored to have been left a vast fortune. She had once mentioned owning several homes throughout the United Kingdom, a set of apartments in Paris, and a vineyard in Italy, but Hope hadn’t been sure if she was telling the truth.

“Let me introduce you to my personal secretary, Miss Rose Ryland,” Belle said as she dug her knuckles into Rose’s back, prompting her forward. “Go on, Rose.”

“Yes, Lady Belle,” the woman said, her voice low. She glanced at Hope and her sisters. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Hope said. She and her sisters curtsied. “I did not realize Lady Belle needed a secretary.”

“Well, I don’t think she does,” Rose said apprehensively, giving her employer a pointed expression. “But she insists otherwise.”

“I am a very rich woman, Rose, and rich women always need secretaries,” Belle said, waving her free hand as if her statement was enough explanation.

“It’s very forward-thinking of you to keep a woman as a secretary,” Grace said before her cheeks became bright pink. “That’s no offense to you, Miss Ryland.”

“Oh, no, I quite agree. And it’s Rose, please,” she said with a smile. “But your aunt found out I had a head for numbers and insisted on hiring me to look after her finances after Mr. Gregory left her services.”

“Yes, that was a shame, losing Mr. Gregory to a father-in-law who insisted he go work for his accounting firm.” Belle sighed. “But I am blessed to have Rose now. Besides, what could a man do that Rose here could not?” she asked. “I’ve never conformed to the idea that men are better than women. I've only witnessed the opposite in all my years on this earth.”

Hope smiled uneasily. She began to understand her grandmother’s distrust of Belle. She was a reformist.

“It’s beautiful here,” Hope said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Belle smirked. “I’m glad you like it, as it will be yours one day.”

Hope gawked at her, as did her sisters.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, of course it will be. I’ve no direct descendants. You three are the last of my bloodline. Why shouldn’t it go to you? The other properties will be distributed accordingly, but Lismore Hall will be yours, Hope.”

Stunned by the revelation, Hope barely registered her sister tactfully changing the subject by talking about the garden.

“The blooms of these roses are massive,” Faith said, admiring the garden. “It’s completely walled in.”

“Yes, it is,” Belle said, walking back inside. “Lovely garden. Mr. Fitzpatrick is a master gardener. If you’d like, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to show you around.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” Faith said following her into the house.

The hall's interior was rather impressive, and though it was a stronghold, Hope had never been in a place that had exuded such warmth and comfort. The tall stone walls were covered with tapestries and paintings depicting Scottish clansmen and women dressed in red and green plaids, set against open landscapes.

Belle led them down the hallway into a room that Hope took to be a receiving parlor, though she wasn’t sure if that was the original intent. It had large windows that overlooked the gardens and a massive fireplace as tall as her. In fact, she believed she and her sisters could stand shoulder to shoulder inside and still have room not to touch one another.

“Now, there are three perfectly suited bedrooms in the west wing I have had set up for you,” Belle said, going around a large wooden desk to tug on a bell pull. “Hope, you’ll be in the green room. It’s the furthest room down and oversees a lovely part of the garden. Faith, you’ll be in the bird room.”

“Bird room?” she said, surprised. “I supposed the décor is responsible for the name?”

“It is, and it’s just above the swan pond. Grace, you’ll be in the blossom room,” Belle said, pointing her ring clad finger at the youngest. “It’s smaller than the others, but it was once used as an office for researching botany.”

“Fascinating,” she said. “Botany is not very far from anatomy.”

“Grace,” Hope said tentatively.

Grace’s interest in anatomy had begun to worry Hope. Their grandmother had been adamant that young ladies shouldn’t pursue such vulgar studies. While Hope had often privately balked at her grandmother’s stringent ideas, she couldn’t deny that Alice had been a smart, well-respected woman who only ever wanted her granddaughters to succeeded. If she had been against the idea of such studies for her granddaughter, there must have been good reason for it, and Hope felt honor-bound to maintain the standards they’d been raised to follow. Since her grandmother’s passing, the burden to keep her sisters on the straight and narrow now fell on her shoulders.

“Oh, don’t quell her interests, dear,” Belle said, twisting to face the youngest. “I know my sister didn’t approve of your studies, Grace. But I assure you, anything goes at Lismore Hall.”

Grace smiled widely, though Hope felt the need to defend her grandmother.

“Grandmother wasn’t so rigid,” she said as an army of maids entered the room. Hope watched as her sisters were unceremoniously pulled away, each by a pair of maids. “She was quite loving when she was the moment called for it.”

“There’s no need to explain, my dear,” Belle said. “I knew my sister far longer than you did.”

“Yes, but—”

“Go now and freshen up,” Belle said as two maids came up on either side of Hope. “We’ll talk more at dinner. And girls, I beg that you wear something other than these mourning clothes.”

All three sisters stopped, stunned by the request.

“But we’re in mourning,” Hope said.

“For how long?”

“Propriety states three months,” Grace began, reciting Hope’s own words, only to be interrupted by Belle.

“Perhaps that made sense when you were in London. But there is no society here and I insist that you three try to cheer yourselves up. What better than to dress in pretty colors? Yes?”

“Um, yes?” Grace said, looking back and forth between at her sisters.

Faith appeared somewhat confused, and while Hope didn’t want to leave the conversation, she was already being dragged away by a pair of determined maids. They both had the same sleek, reddish-brown hair, and Hope had a distinct impression that they were sisters.

“Excuse me, but where are we going?” she asked as they led her to a large wooden staircase off the side of the main hallway.

“Lady Belle insisted that you each be bathed as soon as you arrived,” one of the maids said, her brogue heavy. “You’re to be settled and rested before tonight’s dinner.”

“Are we having guests?”

“Oh, no. Well, mayhap MacKinnon will come. Though after their last row, who knows?”

“Who? And what row?”

“Mr. Graham MacKinnon,” the other maid said, smiling. “A fine man, but he and Lady Belle had a yelling match you wouldn’t believe the other day.”

“Oh goodness,” Hope said, her brow puckering with worry. “You’re awfully quick to share your lady’s private business.”

“Ack, ’tis only MacKinnon, and as your part of this household now, I thought you should know. Especially considering, well …”

The maid’s words fell off as her gaze fell to her colleague. Neither seemed willing to elaborate as they continued down the hall.

“Considering what?” Hope asked.

Both maids remained silent, seeming to have just decided they had already said too much. Instead of speaking any further, one opened the door and led Hope into a beautiful room while the other added more wood to the fire.

Hope had a mind to continue her questioning, but the inquiring words were stolen right from her mouth as her eyes drank in the bedchamber. Her mouth fell open.

The room was vast and bright with papered walls depicting a delicate pink rose motif against a green background that encircled the room as if she were in her own secret garden. White crown molding topped the walls, and a pale blue sky with white clouds had been painted on the ceiling. Heavy dark furniture paired nicely with the pale green curtains and matching bed linens laid on a massive four-post bed square in the middle of the room. To the right of the bed was a set of windows opened onto a stone balcony. An abundant white climbing rose had crawled up the balcony, covered in dozens of blooms that grew all around the window.

It was gorgeous. So much so that Hope was taken aback.

“Oh my,” she said, going to the window.

A garden, more beautiful than any she had ever seen, expanded out from beneath the shallow balcony. Her eyes went immediately to the white roses wrapped around the stonework. The tops of several blooming fruit trees peeped out from behind the balustrades. Hope had nearly made it to the open French doors when a maid crossed into her path, blocking her way.

“Ack, there’s no time for that,” the maid said, pointing to a large brass tub in front of the fireplace. Steam curled from the hot water that had been poured into it. “Bath first.”

“May I ask your name?” Hope asked as the pushy woman turned her about and began undressing her.

“Una,” she said as Hope’s dress fell to the floor. Una nodded to the other maid. “This is my sister, Rebecca. Come now.”

Hope was unceremoniously washed as her travel dress was taken away, and her other clothing was pulled from her valise to be aired out and then put away. She had wanted to dress immediately, but Una insisted she rest.

“But I’m not tired,” she protested, far too interested in exploring her new home to sleep.

“Ochs, all ladies would be tired after journeying here, considering that last push from Cumbria,” Una said. “Now rest, and we’ll be up to ready you for dinner in two hours.”

At the click of the door, Hope was left alone.

“Umph,” she said as she wrapped a green silk robe around her night rail. Going to the window where the white roses hung, she stepped out on the balcony and glanced over the garden.

It was a lovely landscape. A prettier picture she had never seen. Her eyes drifted over the greenery below. The fog seemed unable to touch the ground here, seeing as the world beyond the stone wall was still draped in a thick mist.

To her left, a narrow set of stone steps was hidden behind the large rose bush that grew up to her window. She guessed it must be an ancient plant, considering how tall it had grown and how thick the branches were. She peered down to the grounds below. She wondered if it wasn’t the best idea to go down dressed in only her robe and night clothes, but then it was a walled garden. It was meant to be enjoyed by the residents. Besides, the only people who would see her would be the servants and perhaps Lady Belle or her sisters.

She cautiously climbed down the staircase and came around the base of the rose bush. A swath of lavender, heather, and other tall grasses had been planted together, and Hope inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent. Tiny white flowers spread out from beneath the heather, and she fingered the tall, ornament grasses as she strolled deeper into the garden.

A large pond fed by a stream carved beneath the wall was covered in lily pads and beautiful white and pink blooms. It was enchanting and yet, she had the oddest impression that she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Suddenly, movement against the stone wall caught her attention. The overhanging ivy that covered the wall seemed to shake and what appeared to be a secret door, previously hidden behind the vines, was pushed open. In the next instant, a man of considerable size came into the garden.

Frightened, Hope leaped behind a tall, green topiary cut into a fleur-de-lis shape. She waited to see if the man would pass without seeing her, but for a long while, she could hear no movement at all. Confused, she peered over the branch and saw him, arms folded, staring up into the apple tree. He seemed deep in contemplation, and her fear that he was an intruder subsided. It was obvious that he knew this garden well.

His long arm reached over his head and plucked a nearly spent bud. Bringing it down, he twirled it between his fingers. Hope had never been one for spying, but this man was certainly interesting. He was tall and square-jawed, with auburn hair a touch longer than was fashionable. His tweed jacket and matching pants reminded Hope of the latest hunting styles that were quite popular with the aristocracy.

This man, whoever he was, was handsome in a rather brutal way, but the weight he seemed to hold on his shoulders spoke loudest to Hope. He seemed burdened, and she was pondering on her urge to touch his shoulders and soothe his contemplativeness when the branch she was leaning on snapped.

Hope stumbled forward and elevated her gaze. The man was surprised, but also appeared rather confused as he tilted his head and came forward. Hope clasped her robe at the neck and took a step back.

“Stay away,” she said, prompting him to stop. “Come no further.”

Recognition flooded his face as he heard her speak. He looked her up and down with what seemed like disgust. She supposed he was one of those Scots who loathed the English. Still, she held her head up high.

“Ah,” he began, sounding unimpressed. “One of Lady Belle's nieces, I presume.”

“I am,” she said, lifting her chin. “Miss Hope Sharpe. And you are?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and a tingly sensation swept over her body. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as his eyes swept over her once more. He took another step forward, and she took another step back.

“You’re Miss Hope Sharpe?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes, I am,” she said, her tone slightly higher than usual. “And you are?”

But he still didn’t answer. He observed her with a mixture of contempt and something else she couldn’t identify. His face darkened and his brow furrowed, giving him a positively frightful appearance, as if he were some wronged man on his way to the gallows.

“You would be.” One of his large hands pushed back the hair that fell over his forehead. “I suspect Lady Belle made a damn deal with the devil at some point in her life.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hope asked, confused.

He glowered at her.

“Did she send you out here? Dressed in your night garments?” he asked, before tilting his head back. “I won’t be tempted, Belle!” he shouted, as if Belle was hiding somewhere. “You’re a bloody devil!”

Goodness . This man was obviously unhinged. She backed up a couple more feet.

“I don’t know who you are or why you are in Belle’s garden, sir, but I suggest you leave, as trespassing is a punishable crime.”

“Trespassing?” He laughed bitterly, his accent doing strange things to her. The way his R’s nearly rolled, but then didn’t. Well, it made her shiver. “You think I’m trespassing?”

“I know you are,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Belle lives alone.”

“Aye, that she does.”

“Then you are trespassing. I insist you leave this place at once.”

“Is that so?” he said, slowly coming towards her. Hope tried to back up again, but she bumped into a hedgerow of boxwood. He smelled like clover and honey. “And who is going to make me?”

Shaking with fear—and, heaven help her, some sort of arousal—Hope lifted her foot and kicked out, right between his legs.

“Ack!” he yelled, stumbling back long enough for her to whirl and race back towards the rose bush that camouflaged her secret staircase.

What a frightful brute. Hope hurried into her room, closing the opened doors behind her, and locking them with purpose. With any luck, he would realize his folly and leave the garden immediately, because she was going to immediately inform the staff that there had been a trespasser on the property.