“I am marrying Harry because I love him,” she said, and by her tone she let him know she wasn’t going to say any more on the subject.
“And what do the English think of you?”
At that Claire laughed. “They seem to look upon me as a cross between a Red Indian and a Gaiety Girl. I shock them rather often.”
“I imagine you do. I don’t think a prim and proper young miss would spend days in a man’s rooms as you have done.”
His words didn’t bother her in the least. “True enough. But we are chaperoned and you are—” Out of habit, she started
to say he was old enough to be her father, but Trevelyan raised one eyebrow at her and she looked away, her face pink. “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
She’d learned days ago that although Trevelyan asked questions, he did not answer them. He didn’t tell her how old he was. Instead, he asked her more about her family, and how her pretty little sister could be called Brat.
“Sarah Ann’s prettiness is a curse to her,” Claire said with some feeling. “She was born beautiful and there has not been a day in her life that someone hasn’t told her she was lovely. When she was about three she climbed onto the lap of one of Father’s rich, fat friends and asked him to give her the diamond off his watch chain. The old man thought it was a great joke, gave her the diamond, and started her on the road to ruin. She’s learned she doesn’t have to do anything for anyone without getting paid for it.”
“That seems to be the American way.”
“Don’t you dare say anything against my country. Compared to America this place is—” She broke off, not saying what she had intended to.
But Trevelyan had a way of making her talk. He fixed her with that look of his and it was obvious he meant to outwait her.
She started to tell him, slowly at first, some of the things she had observed in England and in Scotland. “It is a land of the past.”
“But I thought you liked that. You fairly drooled over old MacTarvit. And poor Harry is freezing his backside in a kilt merely to impress you.”
At that she gave a pointed look to the tartan draped over the back of a chair. He, too, had worn a plaid. Had he frozen in it merely to impress her?
For the first time Trevelyan looked down at the chessboard with great concentration. “So now you don’t like the past?” he asked.
“I do. I love history. But I also know that time cannot stand still. There has to be progress or a country becomes like a stagnant pond. There has to be growth and change or a country cannot survive.”
“I can’t see how you can reconcile your love of kilts with your American ideas of changing everything for the sake of change. What is wrong with things as they are? You sound like one of those damned missionaries, always wanting to convert people to another religion. The one the poor savages had wasn’t good enough for them.”
She gave him a confused look. “I’m not talking about religion. I’m not even talking about philosophy. I’m talking about bathrooms.”
Claire was pleased to see that shuttered, protective look in his eyes disappear. He looked completely bewildered.
Claire stood up and walked to the window. “Look at this lovely house. Look at all the people living in it. This is the late nineteenth century. It’s almost the twentieth century, yet this house has seventeenth-century plumbing. That is to say, it has no plumbing at all.”
She raised her hands in exasperation. “All the people in the house use chamber pots. The water for tubs is hauled by men up flight after flight of stairs.” She looked toward the window then back at him. “Yes, I like history. I love it. If I were in charge of…of, I don’t know what, Scotland maybe, I’d make sure every man, woman, and child in the country knew the story of their ancestors. It saddens me that so many Scots I meet know nothing about their own history. Many of the children have never heard the old ballads. Few of the adults know of the blood that has been shed in trying to gain independence from the English.”
“What does all this have to do with bathrooms?”
“Everything. It’s all very well to know about the past, but it’s not all right to live in it. It seems that the people have lost the traditions and the ancient stories, but they’ve retained their ancient plumbing—and transportation and all the other things that keep them from entering this century.”
“I gathered that you didn’t think there was anything bad about Scotland.”
“For all that you smirk at me as though I’m a child, I can see what is going on around me. MacTarvit lives in a hut just like the one his ancestors lived in three hundred years ago.”
“I thought you liked the black cottage.”
“I do, but I didn’t like the poverty of the people. Lord MacTarvit steals cows. He risks the wrath of Harry’s mother when he takes what he needs and no doubt gives most of it away. He—”
“MacTarvit give anything away? Ha!”
“He stole three cows. Do you think that one little man ate all of those cows before they spoiled?”
“Maybe he killed them one at a time.”