Free The Highlander's Yuletide Love by Alicia Quigley Page B

the wall at her, captured in what appeared to be a
moment of introspective happiness. She was seated, wearing a pale blue gown in
the Grecian style that had been so popular at the turn of the
century, with a gorgeous silk shawl draped over her arms. Pearls glowed
around her neck and at her ears, and a diadem of golden leaves
interspersed with pearls kept her classically dressed curls in order. A large,
very furry, white Persian cat nestled in her lap, and her
long slim fingers rested at its neck, as though she had only that moment
finished petting its head. She looked out at the world with a gentle little
smile, and an expression of contentment and good humor. 
    Sophy stared at
the painting, seeking to find something of herself in her mother’s face. Her
own hair was dark, like her father’s, not angelically fair, but she knew her
eyes were the same as her mother’s, a bright cornflower blue. She did not have
the same retroussé nose as the late countess, but she could see that she had
inherited her hands, with their elegant white fingers and oval nails. She took
a step closer, willing herself to see more in the painting, and felt
a wave of warmth and peace flow through her, almost as though the
happiness that shone out of the painting was transmitting itself to her.
    “I wonder what you
would think of me?” she whispered. “Did you have a passion that no one knows about?
Or would you also think me foolish not to marry now, while I have the chance, and
not waste my youth pursuing a nonsensical wish?”
    Her mother smiled
down at Sophy silently, and she shook her head, frustrated. “I
know you loved Papa—at least I am always told you did—and that you loved me as
well. I wish I could remember you more clearly. I think perhaps I recall
the sound of your voice, and the scent you always wore, but maybe those are
just tricks of my memory. I love Harriet, truly I do, but sometimes I wish
you were here to talk to. What would you think of my ambition? Would you
encourage me?”
    Sophy continued
to gaze at her mother’s image, but although she felt a sense of peace, there
were no answers to her questions. She stood a few more minutes, willing the
painting to give up an answer, but it did not. Finally, she broke into a
reluctant smile at her own ridiculousness and turned away, wandering over to
one of the tall windows that overlooked the front of the castle. She noted that
the clouds were breaking up, and that a bit of pale sunlight was peeping
through them, casting a watery light on the graveled road leading to the
door. As she watched, a barouche came into view, driven by a smartly dressed
coachman. A very elegant lady sat in the back, the ostrich plumes on her bonnet
nodding in the breeze.
    “Isobel!” she
exclaimed, and ran from the gallery, thoughts of her mother forgotten.
    Dearest Philippa,
    You will forgive me, I hope, for being so
remiss in writing to you! We have been in Scotland some weeks now, and I am so
pleased to be settled here again. Euan is happiest here, in his home, with his
people around him, and, while you know I enjoy our time in London, each day
here at Glencairn is something to be treasured. The children thrive as well; Douglas
is delighted to be able to fish, and often takes his little brother with him,
and Sophy does nothing but paint each day, which seems to bring her great
delight, though I know I should find it tedious. I have always enjoyed my
watercolors, as you well know, but she appears able to devote herself to painting
day in and day out. I should die of boredom, but she seems very happy.
    The Exencours arrived some days ago, and
have brought with them Colonel Stirling, who you know is a great favorite of
mine. He and Exencour come to Glencairn most days, which is delightful.
Douglas, Euan, and I spend a great deal of time with them, and I think it a
great pity that Sophy should miss their company. But she is always somewhere
with her paints, or helping Isobel at her