“We can apportion blame later if necessary,” Graeme said. “What’s wrong with the damn stuff?”
“Ye ken it’s my secret punch recipe,” Angus explained. “So after it’s settled a wee bit, I test it to see if it needs more sugar.”
“And?” Grant impatiently put in.
“Somebody’s spiked it,” Hannah said.
The twins exchanged a startled glance.
“With whisky?” Graeme asked with disbelief.
“Well, nae with sugar, ye jinglebrain,” Angus tartly replied.
Grant stepped forward and dipped a cup into the strawberry-colored beverage. He took a sip, and then grimaced. “Aye, it’s whisky, and sufficient to harm a child if he drank enough. The punch covers most of the taste, so a little one might not catch it.”
“My God.” Kathleen pressed a hand to her suddenly roiling stomach. “Who would do such a thing?”
Graeme cursed. “I think we know the answer to that.”
“And given the circumstances,” Grant grimly added, “I’d say we have a spy in our midst, as well.”
“Aye,” said Angus, “and a right nasty bugger he is.”
Chapter Eighteen
It wasn’t difficult to spot Grant, since he towered over most everyone in the ballroom. Although he appeared to be lounging against the doorframe, he was on the lookout for trouble.
The entire household had been on the lookout after the afternoon incident with the punch. Fortunately, the rest of the day had gone as planned, and the villagers had enjoyed a generous picnic supper before returning home to prepare for tonight’s party.
They’d debated canceling the evening’s festivities, of course. Graeme and Sabrina, along with Kathleen, Grant, and Angus, had thrashed it out in a tense session in the kitchen garden during the picnic, before finally concluding that the ball should proceed. Canceling it would have caused upset and even panic amongst the villagers. Graeme was growing increasingly concerned that the locals might take matters into their own hands, with possibly unfortunate results.
But the pressure was certainly on to track down the criminals as soon as possible.
Kathleen murmured an apology as she tried to slip by the butcher’s wife.
Mrs. Harrison, a comfortably plump woman with a kind face, moved aside. “Bless me, Miss Calvert, I’m squeezing ye against the wall. I dinna wish to wrinkle yer pretty dress.”
“It’s rather a crush, isn’t it?” Kathleen replied.
“Aye, it’s a grand party. Have ye met Mrs. Ferguson? She’s Dunlaggan’s linen draper.”
“Not formally. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Ferguson.”
Mrs. Ferguson, a middle-aged woman in a well-tailored gown of gray silk, returned her smile. “The pleasure is mine, especially since I get to see yer wonderful gown up close. That’s a lovely shade of satin, Miss Calvert. And Brussels lace, I take it?”
“That is correct.”
Mrs. Harrison shyly touched the lace trim on Kathleen’s puffed sleeve. “Lady Kendrick has some right pretty gowns, ye ken. But I’ve never seen the likes of this one. Ye look like a princess.”
“To tell you the truth, I feel overdressed,” confided Kathleen.
She’d only bought a few evening gowns with her, and this one, white lace over a rose satin slip, seemed better suited to a ton ball than a country party.
“Ye look a treat,” said Mrs. Ferguson. “We don’t often see such lovely things here in Dunlaggan.”
“But all the draperies you’ve done for the manor house are wonderful,” Kathleen replied. “I especially love the tartan silk drapes in the dining room.”
“Chattan plaid. My lady’s clan, ye ken.”
“If her ladyship doesn’t mind, I’d love a gown made in that fabric. I think it would be very dashing.”
The two women exchanged a glance.
“There’s more than a wee bit of purple in that plaid,” Mrs. Ferguson said in a dubious tone.
“That’s why I like it so much. It reminds me of the vibrant heather I see in the glens.”
The butcher’s wife smiled. “Well, I reckon ye have the dash to carry it off. It’s nae wonder the men are sneakin’ peeks at ye, especially our vicar. He’s fair smitten, I’ll wager.”
“Who can blame him?” said Mrs. Ferguson. “Such a pretty lass in such a pretty dress.”
Kathleen mentally winced, having dodged the vicar all evening.
“Of course, Vicar Brown is nae the only man with a fancy for Miss Calvert,” Mrs. Harrison added to her friend.
Clearly, the ladies of Dunlaggan were not shy about exchanging a wee bit of gossip.
“Mrs. Ferguson,” Kathleen hastily said, “shall I stop by your shop in a few days to see about that dress?”
“I would be that honored, Miss Calvert.”
“Splendid. I’ll see you soon.”
“And be sure to have a dance with Mr. Brown,” Mrs. Harrison said. “He’ll be fair chuffed if ye do.”
Kathleen beat as quick a retreat as one could make in a room packed to the rafters.
She finally reached the wide, arched doorway that divided the main drawing room from the smaller one behind it. The doors between the two had been thrown up to create a ballroom. By filling the space with dozens of candelabras, vases of mums, and swags of heather draped over windows and doorways, Sabrina and the staff had transformed the old-fashioned pair of rooms into a festive space for country dances and Highland reels.
The cheerful crowd seemed to be properly appreciative. A colorful gathering, everyone easily mingled, regardless of wealth or station. Even the village ancients had deigned to attend, and were now lounging on padded benches against the wall as they chatted with Graeme. Gentlemen farmers and crofters discussed the state of their crops, the women chatted about children, gardens, and prized recipes, and the young people flirted as they eagerly waited for the dancing to commence.
Kathleen found it all incredibly refreshing. She’d almost forgotten the ease of country life, and how distant it was from the pressures of London’s competitive social milieu.
Encouragingly, she’d not heard anyone complain about the vandalism or robberies. That suggested the festivities were achieving their intended goal of reminding Dunlaggan that it was a close-knit community, united against any and all threats.
The only irritation for her was Captain Brown, holding court by the drinks table with a smattering of locals—no doubt expounding on his dreary land scheme. Kathleen would happily have seen him ejected from the party for acting like a pest, especially with Jeannie.
According to Sabrina, Brown had presented his archery prize to Jeannie after the tournament, making a show of it. The prizes for the games weren’t much, truth be told, wreaths made of bay leaves and heather, along with silk scarves in Chattan colors. Kathleen had fashioned the wreaths, and Hannah had whipped up the scarves from remnants of leftover drapery fabric.
Unfortunately, Jeannie had been rather dazzled by the captain’s gesture. If the dratted man kept it up, she might rethink Grant’s offer to thrash the man, or even take on the task herself.
She squeezed past a group of farmers who were complaining about the latest tax outrage from Westminster and finally made her way to Grant. With a shoulder still propped against the doorframe and whisky in hand, he quietly studied the room.
He smiled as she joined him. “How are the Mistresses Ferguson and Harrison? You seemed to be having quite the chew.”
“Were you spying on me, sir? I thought that was your brother’s job.”
“He’s turned the position over to me on a temporary basis. And speaking of the Dunlaggan ladies, any chatter about our little problem this afternoon?”
“None at all. You deflected any curiosity quite ably.”
He snorted. “You mean Angus and Hannah did. They performed their roles to perfection.”
“Yes, but it was your idea.”
Once they’d made the discovery that the punch had been spiked, it became necessary to dispo
se of it without raising suspicion. Grant had suggested that Hannah accuse Angus of adding too many lemons, thus making the punch too tart. The pair had thrown themselves into the charade by loudly exchanging insults. Much to the amusement of the villagers, Graeme had dramatically separated the faux combatants, while Grant had calmly picked up the punch bowl and carried it back to the kitchen.
“Your grandfather is a very convincing actor,” Kathleen said.
“No one is better at telling whoppers—or acting outraged at a moment’s notice—than our grandda. It’s quite a talent.”
“Yes, he’s a true original.”
Grant tilted his head, his gaze warm and slightly amused. “And so are you, lass.”
She crinkled her nose. “So I’ve been told.”
“Yes, but I meant it as a compliment. And speaking of compliments, you look very fetching in that gown.”
She dropped him a little curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir. According to the Dunlaggan ladies, I look like a princess.”
He settled his broad shoulders more comfortably against the doorframe. Kathleen couldn’t help thinking he looked like a handsome Highland prince in the dress kit of his clan. In a fine wool kilt in Kendrick plaid, topped by a tailored black coat, he was absolutely delicious.
“A fairy princess, I would say,” Grant said. “There’s something quite fey about you.”
“It’s the Irish, and I hope that was meant as a compliment, too.”
He smiled. “Kathleen, I could spend all night complimenting you.”
She had a sudden mental image of what spending all night with Grant could possibly turn out to be.
“And I’ve noticed you’re quite fond of pink,” he added. “It’s a very flattering color, especially with that overskirt of Brussels lace.”
She choked on a laugh. “Mr. Kendrick, this will never do. Men are generally not thought to notice such things as the details of a lady’s dress.”
His gaze went positively smoky. “Lass, I notice everything about you.”
Kathleen resisted the temptation to snap open her fan and flap away at her suddenly overheated cheeks.
“Clearly not,” she managed to reply. “Because this gown isn’t pink.”
“No?”
“It’s rose satin, as anyone with an eye for fashion can see. I’m afraid you do not have an eye for fashion.”
He laughed. “Perhaps not, but I know what I like. And I like that color on you. It matches your freckles when you blush.”
She heaved a sigh. “Really, sir, only you would point that out.”
“But I like your freckles.” He leaned closer. “Verra much,” he added in a deep brogue.
Goodness.
Kathleen had no choice now but to open her fan and start fanning herself. Grant chuckled and resumed his position against the doorframe.
“So, no disturbing gossip, thus far?” he asked.
Kathleen breathed a sigh of relief. Flirting with Grant Kendrick was a risky proposition, especially to her heart.
“All seems well.” She glanced around. “Where’s Sabrina? I haven’t seen her in some time.”
“She slipped upstairs. To check on Gus, I’m thinking.”
Kathleen was suddenly horrified at the notion that little Gus might be at risk. “I . . . I never even thought of that.”
Grant rested a big hand on her shoulder, his thumb sliding over the exposed skin above her puffed sleeve. Her anxiety began to ease at his gentle touch.
“There’s no reason to worry,” he said. “The nursery is well guarded, as is the rest of the house.”
She’d seen some precautions put in place, but had been too busy with the floral arrangements and getting ready for the party to pay much attention.
“What about the kitchen? Keeping the food safe, I mean.”
He snorted. “Hannah suggested that Angus serve as the official taster. She noted that he’s such an ornery old bird no one would care if he popped off.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh dear. Poor Angus.”
“No, poor me. I had to separate them.”
“I can well imagine the scene. But I do hope there’s truly no concern about the kitchen. Sabrina told me that Cook and the housekeeper would check everything and make sure only the regular kitchen staff were involved in preparations.” The very idea of someone tampering with the food made her queasy.
Grant shook his head. “Lass, there’s naught to worry about. Trust me, all right?”
She stared up at him, lost for several heartbeats in the depths of his forest-green gaze.
“I do,” she finally whispered.
They were the truest words to ever cross her lips.
For long moments, they just stared at each other. Then his head dipped a bit, as if he would actually kiss her, before he straightened up to put space between them again. Kathleen had to resist the temptation to press a hand to her fluttering heart.
“Gracious,” she squeaked.
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “What I wouldn’t give for a quiet little corner right now.”
“That sounds ... quite improper, sir.”
She’d been about to say, wonderful, like a complete ninny.
“Perhaps later, then?”
“You are incorrigible, Mr. Kendrick.”
“I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. And didn’t we agree you should call me Grant?”
She adopted a mock frown. “No, I don’t think we did.”
His answering laugh reminded Kathleen once again how much she loved the sound—warm and welcoming, like a hot toddy but infinitely more stimulating.
She made a concerted effort to rein in her skittering emotions. After all, they were in the middle of a ballroom. She hardly needed another scandal on her hands, triggered by publicly mooning over Grant Kendrick.
“To return to the original point of our discussion, sir—”
“Would that be sneaking off to find a nice, quiet corner?”
“No, you booby,” she tartly replied.
“Och, it’s a hard lass, ye are,” he said with a dramatic sigh.
“Mr. Kendrick—”
“Grant.”
“Mr. Kendrick, do not force me to whack you over the head with my fan.”
His grin was unrepentant. “No need to fash yourself, Kathleen. I mean, Miss Calvert.”
“You know, you’re as bad as your twin.”
“No one’s as bad as Graeme. Except possibly our older brother Logan.”
“Then I will be sure to avoid that brother at all costs.”
“Don’t count on that happening, lass.”
She frowned, this time with genuine confusion. “But he’s in Canada, is he not?”
He skated over her question. “As to the point of our discussion, I assume you’re asking if we’re safe from having further incidents like this afternoon’s unfortunate occurrence.”
“Yes.”
“For the moment we are, but we need to bring a stop to this as soon as possible. I should be out there looking for the blighters right now, not standing about guarding the punch bowl.”
“As competent as you are, Mr. Kendrick, even you can’t see in the dark. There’s no moon, and it’s now overcast.”
His smile returned, as did the wicked gleam in his eyes. “I can see some things verra well in the dark, ye ken.”
She shook her head. “You’re hopeless.”
“All right, I’ll stop teasing. You can be assured that for tonight, at least, everything is fine. We have guards posted everywhere, including in the village. So you should just try to enjoy yourself.”
“Speaking of enjoying one’s self, I seem to have lost track of Jeannie.” She craned up on her toes again. “I had a good eye on her for most of the evening, until now.”
Until she’d let herself get distracted by Grant.
“Jeannie left the main drawing room a few minutes ago while we were talking. She seemed to be following some young ladies to the
supper room, so I assumed she was going with them.”
Kathleen very much doubted that. “Can you see David?”
“He was with his irritating brother not ten minutes ago. Now I only see the captain. No David.”
“Drat. I need to find her right now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Forging a path through the cheerful mob, Grant led her to the main corridor that ran the length of the manor house. He stopped a footman hurrying toward the supper room with a tray of glasses.
“Davey, have you seen Miss Jeanette?”
The footman shook his head. “It’s a fair crush, sir. But I can help ye look, if ye want me to.”
Grant shook his head to dismiss Davey, then glanced down at Kathleen. “She’s probably in the dining room. Why don’t you check there while I pop upstairs for a look in the family parlor and Graeme’s study?”
She nodded and started off, but he suddenly reeled her back in. “Hang on. Here’s Sabrina, and she’s looking fashed.”
Sabrina hurried toward them from the front hall. She did look annoyed, although she managed a smile for some of the village ladies chatting outside the ballroom.
“It’s Jeannie, isn’t it?” Kathleen asked her with a sinking heart.
“I’m afraid so. She’s in Graeme’s study with David. Graeme’s keeping an eye on them.” She winced. “He discovered them, in fact.”
“Blast and damnation,” Kathleen muttered as she turned on her heel and strode off with the other two following.
When they reached the center hall with its wide, circular staircase that led to the family rooms, Kathleen glanced over her shoulder at Grant.
“You needn’t come, sir. Jeannie will be difficult enough to manage even without an audience.”
“No, we definitely need Grant,” Sabrina said.
Grant shook his head. “I take it my twin is acting like an idiot?”
“He’s gone full Highlander, as Nick would say.”
“What does that mean?” Kathleen asked as they hurried up the stairs.
“It means that he caught Jeannie trying to kiss our vicar.”
Kathleen nearly tripped at the top step. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Sadly, I cannot. She had him backed against the bookshelves, apparently. I was coming from the nursery and heard Graeme leveling dire threats at poor David.”
The Highlanderâ??s Irish Bride Page 24
