“Eloise,” he said, meeting her halfway across the room and pulling her into a sound hug. She was as tiny as Francesca, and even more delicate-seeming.
Her smile deepened. “You couldn’t possibly recognize me,” she said, her cultured English accent surprising him despite the fact that he knew precisely where she’d spent the past seventeen years of her life. She was his sister; she was supposed to be Scottish.
“I have a clear memory of poking ye with a stick so ye’d cry and I could wrangle another biscuit from Mrs. Ross. She’s our cook, and she loved giving ye milk-softened biscuits.”
“I don’t remember that,” she returned, her brow furrowing before it smoothed again. “I do love biscuits quite dearly, though.” The eighteen-year-old tilted her head, taking a closer look at him.
“Do I have a bug on my forehead?” he asked after a minute of her scrutiny.
“What? Oh, heavens no. I … I just met Aden, and he said I look like you.” She took a half-step closer. “I can’t figure him out. Coll said I was a wee bairn and shouldn’t be thinking of marrying anyone for at least ten more years, but Aden just looked at me, said you and I could be twins, and then asked where he could find a good game of faro.”
Niall grinned. “Nae a one of us can figure out Aden. He is fond of cards. Ye’re coming to the theater with us tonight, aye?”
“No. I’d like to, but I have a dinner with Matthew and his parents.” She cleared her throat. “I think Mama wants to give you a few days to become familiar with London before you meet Matthew and everyone.”
That, or Francesca might still be trying to figure out if London was ready for the MacTaggerts. When he returned his attention to Eloise she was still gazing at him. “I wasnae happy to come down here to London,” he said, “but I am happy to have ye back in my life.”
She smiled, tears gathering in her eyes. “I have brothers,” she said, her voice breaking. “I always knew I did, and Mama told me stories about you, but they were always the same stories, of things you did when you were all very young. It was like hearing a tale about someone else’s family.” She stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Niall.”
With that she left the room again. Behind him, Oscar sniffed loudly. “That was damned touching, Master Niall.”
Niall turned back to the dressing table. “Aye, it was. If Da had told us why he resented Francesca all this time, I might’ve written Eloise other than on her birthday. Mayhap I’d have come down to visit her.”
No doubt Angus had been embarrassed to have been put in such a vulnerable position by such a wee woman as Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert, but the family patriarch hadn’t done his sons any favors by keeping that damned piece of paper and its contents a secret from them until the moment he’d learned of Eloise’s betrothal.
If they’d known earlier, they might have had time to hire an English solicitor to find them a way out of this mess. They might have come up with a strategy on their own to get around all of them having to marry Englishwomen, and Coll being forced to wed the one his mother chose for him. They might have married Scottish lasses, and then dared Lady Aldriss to do her worst.
His door swung open again. “Here,” Coll said, and tossed him an apple.
Niall caught it. “We’re nae sitting for dinner then, I assume?” he asked, biting into the fruit.
“Ye assume correctly. I’ll go to the damned theater because I gave my word, but I’m nae sitting and eating beside that woman and pretending we’re a family.”
An apple might suffice for a few hours, but it was not a long-term solution. “If it comes down to it, we’re eating yer horse first, then.”
Coll paced to the window and back again. “She has us over a barrel.”
“Aye, that she does.”
“I suppose, then, that it doesnae matter who this lass is, as long as she’s spineless. If I cannae get around a marriage, the duller the better. I’ll sit through having eyelashes batted at me and talking about the weather and Parisian fashion, and I’ll wed her as soon as possible. Ye and Aden find yer lasses, and then we’ll go home alone. Francesca may have won, but she willnae like the prize.”
Niall had never thought he would be looking for a simpering lass, but he hadn’t anticipated any of this. “I’ll follow yer lead. The MacTaggerts stand t—”
“Together,” Coll finished, approaching to clap him on the shoulder. “Aye. Aden’s already gone out, so what say we throw some darts in that fancy billiards room until Lady Aldriss calls us down for the theater?” He scowled. “I hope it’s at least Macbeth or someaught bloody.”
As they found the billiards room someone banged a gong downstairs. Niall supposed that meant dinner was served, but since Coll had already decided they were to survive on apples tonight, he ignored the reverberating clang. A gong, when someone yelling up the stairs would have sufficed just as well. Then again, their father had once fired a pistol into the floor to get his sons into the dining room.
Generally Niall would be the one smoothing the rocks between Coll and Francesca. Aye, he liked a good fight, especially when the two sides had equal power, and in this instance he hesitated even to name Francesca as family, but he knew both his brothers and his father turned to him looking for common ground. And it wasn’t just them. Whenever it had happened, he’d become the valley’s peacemaker. Their diplomat, his father called him. If that meant that he had no use for bullies or that he protected the people around him, then he supposed he accepted the moniker. How that all played into being hamstrung into a marriage, he had no idea.
“There you are,” came from the doorway, and Niall turned to see the butler straightening his waistcoat. “You’ve missed dinner, my lord, Master Niall, I’m afraid.”
“Aye,” Coll replied, and threw another dart.
“I’m to inform you that the gong sounds the commencement of dinner every evening, and that it will only sound once. I’m also to say that the coach is on the drive, and that Lady Aldriss wishes to see you join her there without delay.”
Coll coiled his fingers around his last dart. Sighing inwardly, Niall nudged his shoulder against his brother’s. “Ye dunnae have an alternative plan,” he muttered before the viscount could begin putting holes in people. “And there is the wee chance that the lass ye’re to meet favors just the sort of man ye are. Ye know, dull, stupid, and pliable.”
“Ye’re an idiot,” his brother grumbled back at him, tossing the last dart into the dead center of the board. “Let’s find out, aye?”
* * *
“Mother, should I wear Grandmama’s pearls, or the onyx necklace from Aunt Louise?” Amelia-Rose Hyacinth Baxter called, leaving her bedchamber with a bauble in either hand and stopping at the top of the stairs.
Her mother appeared downstairs from the direction of the sitting room. “You cannot think to wear pearls with that white lace at the neckline—you’ll make them look yellow.” Her brow furrowed. “Don’t you have blue glass beads with the matching earbobs? They’ll bring out your eyes.”
“I’m already wearing a blue gown,” Amelia-Rose countered, twirling. “That’s too much.”
Her mother, Victoria Baxter, flipped a hand at her. “Wear the onyx, then. Just hurry. We must have you seated before Lady Aldriss and her son arrive.”
Yes, of course. A lady always looked very fine curving her neck to glance behind her, and then rising and turning to greet her admirers. It made her gown swirl about her waist and thighs. Amelia-Rose hurried back to her bedchamber and handed the onyx necklace to Mary. “We’ve spent too long on my hair,” she told her maid, sitting so Mary could fasten the gold chain behind her. “Mama’s worried we’ll be late.”
“But you have to concede that your hair looks very fine this evening,” the maid returned, putting a finger through a delicate blond curl and twisting it. “A golden waterfall, it is.”
Amelia-Rose looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair did look very nice this evening. Too nice, perha
ps. She straightened her left sleeve a little. “Do you suppose my intended has bothered to bathe?”
Mary chuckled. “I would imagine Lady Aldriss has insisted that he do so. He is half English, you said.”
“Yes, and half Scottish. Highlander Scottish.” She sighed. “You’ve seen them about. They’re all brutes with great bristly beards and kegs slung over their shoulders.”
“Those are the ones working at the docks, Miss Amy. This one’s a viscount. And he’s to be an earl, one day.”
“I know. And being called ‘my lady’ and having people bow and curtsy to me would be very nice.” Amelia-Rose grimaced as she stood again. She’d begun parroting her mother even when Victoria Baxter wasn’t there to notice. “I don’t object to his status. Only to his location and the quality of his upbringing. Scotland is very far away from London. If I were to hold a soiree there, who in the world would even know it?”
That had been her concern since her mother and Lady Aldriss had come to their agreement a fortnight ago. London boasted soirees, recitals, theaters, amusements, rides in the park, museums, and everything else imaginable. Scotland had … sheep. One could not dance or have witty chats with sheep. Or Highlanders, in her experience.
The small bell that usually sat on the table in the foyer began ringing wildly, a sure sign that her mother was, at the least, growing impatient. Stifling a sigh, Amelia-Rose headed downstairs, pulling on her deep-blue gloves as she descended the straight staircase.
Her mother met her at the bottom. “You’ll do,” Victoria said, eyeing her. “Though I wish you’d woven ribbons through your hair.”
Blue ribbons, no doubt. “Mama, this is Drury Lane, not a grand ball,” she countered, putting on a smile. “And I certainly don’t wish to look too eager.”
“Why shouldn’t you look eager?” her father put in, emerging from his office. “It’s all arranged. All that’s left is you and Lord Glendarril meeting, and the two of you choosing a date for the wedding. I daresay we’ve done the difficult part in all this.”
“Oh, nonsense, dear Charles,” his wife put in, surprising Amelia-Rose. “Our daughter has been the toast of London for two years now. She’s already had…” She paused, glancing at Amelia-Rose. “How many proposals have you had?”
“Four,” she answered, taking her light silver shawl from Hughes the butler and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“There you have it, Charles. Four proposals in two years. Why should she be eager to meet a man who has both a title and wealth and who cannot flee when Amelia-Rose says something untoward?”
Ah, so it wasn’t a compliment after all. She should have known better. “I am trying, Mother. And I thank you for taking the trouble to come to an agreement with Lady Aldriss.”
Victoria put a hand to her forehead. “Gratitude, at last. I am quite overcome.”
“Now, now, dear,” Amelia-Rose’s father soothed, ushering them past Hughes and out to the waiting coach. “Three of those proposals are from this year. She is making an effort.”
“Thank you for saying so, Father.” And she had been making an effort. She hadn’t said anything truly scathing since late last Season, when Lord Albert Pruitz, the Marquis of Veyton’s thirdborn son, had compared her to a pitcher of milk. She’d learned her lesson after that calamity, and she’d minded her tongue. Her thoughts hadn’t been all that cooperative, but at least the entirety of her did understand that no one would ever offer for her again if she couldn’t refrain from accusing a suitor of having the imagination of a turnip.
In her second Season now, she’d learned to temper her expectations and to accept her own shortcomings. She’d hoped to find a man who admired her for who and what she was, who appreciated that she had a wit, and that hadn’t happened. Now her parents had gone and found a man for her—one who apparently met none of her qualifications. The only actual benefit she could see to marrying Lord Glendarril would be that she could move out of Baxter House. But going from there to the Highlands didn’t seem much of an improvement at all.
No one arrived early at Drury Lane Theater, because being early meant there was no one there to admire one’s gown or cravat as one walked up the wide, curving staircase. On the other hand, they were seated in Lady Aldriss’s box and provided with drinks within two minutes of leaving the carriage.
Three open seats remained in the box. Lady Aldriss, of course, and Lord Glendarril, but who else? Not Eloise MacTaggert, because Amelia-Rose knew her friend to be dining with the Harrises this evening. One of the other brothers, then. She stifled a scowl as people below began to wander to their seats. Nothing had been officially declared, but people knew who she would be meeting tonight, and she wasn’t about to give anyone fodder for gossip by allowing a careless expression. Not any longer.
Across the theater in a box nearly opposite the one in which she and her parents sat, Lady Caroline Mays and her younger sister Lady Agnes, together with the Duke and Duchess of Hildergreen, took seats in their own box. Caroline lifted her opera glasses, spied Amelia-Rose, and gave her a wave.
Smiling, Amelia-Rose waved back. Inwardly, though, she cringed. She liked Lady Caroline—they were dear friends, really—but the duke’s daughter couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. She would see everything that went on in Lady Aldriss’s box, and by morning every one of their mutual friends would know it, as well. Wonderful.
She sighed. If she couldn’t somehow avoid all this, perhaps it would go well. Perhaps Coll MacTaggert was handsome and agreeable and had always wanted to live in London. His accent would fade over time, hopefully his manners weren’t horrid and could be corrected, and she could therefore avoid having her entire life upended.
“Ah, good, you’re here.” Lady Aldriss’s voice came from the box entrance behind her.
Amelia-Rose took a deep breath, leveled her shoulders, and turned her head just so to show off the curve of her neck. The action was wasted, though, because only Lady Aldriss, lovely in mauve-and-black silk, stood in the curtained entryway. Perhaps the MacTaggert brothers hadn’t arrived, after all—and that would be fine with her. Her calendar for the Season was already full to bursting.
She stood, curtsying as the countess moved into her private box. “Good evening, my lady.” Because she and Eloise were friends, she’d become quite familiar with Lady Aldriss, and had come to appreciate her rather straightforward manner, so different from Amelia-Rose’s own mother and her half-complimentary, half-insulting “suggestions.”
“Victoria, Charles, so good to see you,” Lady Aldriss said with a smile, offering a hand to each of Amelia-Rose’s parents. “And you, my dear, are a vision.”
“Francesca, thank you for inviting us this evening,” her mother returned. “Did your sons not arrive?”
One side of the countess’s mouth quirked. “They did.” Taking a step backward, she reached through the curtain.
A tall man, his shoulders so broad he barely seemed to fit in the doorway, half stumbled into the box as if pushed from behind. With a low word that sounded like a curse he straightened, and all at once she took in green eyes so light they looked nearly colorless, a straight, well-proportioned nose, a mouth that turned down at the corners in a half scowl, wildly overgrown brown hair, those shoulders, a lean waist, and—oh, good heavens—a vibrant red, black, and green kilt. And those Scottish shoes with the long laces wound around his legs nearly up to the knees.
Thank goodness he was wearing that kilt, though, because otherwise her first thought might have been that he was extraordinarily handsome in a wild, uncivilized way—some pagan god of virility. Now, though, she had no choice but to remember that he was a Highlander, and that she really didn’t want one of those. His gaze caught hers, something she couldn’t decipher but that felt … warm, touching his expression and then vanishing again. Oh. Abruptly she wanted a breath of air.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lady Aldriss muttered. “This is Niall, my youngest son.” She vanished briefly, then reappeared through the cur
tains on the arm of an even larger man. “This is my oldest, Coll MacTaggert, Viscount Glendarril. Coll, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, and Miss Amelia-Rose Baxter.”
Lord Glendarril looked very like his younger brother, though his eyes were a much darker green, his mouth harder, and his brows straight slashes that shadowed his eyes but didn’t hide his direct, disconcerting stare at her. This was the man her parents wanted her to marry? This huge, hard-edged, staring brute?
Her mother nudged her in the small of her back, and Amelia-Rose belatedly curtsied. “My lord. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“Are ye?” he replied in a thick Scottish brogue. “Will ye be pleased to wear my ring and call yerself Lady Glendarril?”
“I…” Heavens, he was terrifying. “I think we should become acquainted first, my lord. Don’t you?” she asked, trying very hard to remember she was supposed to be polite. Oh, this was not going to happen. This brute would cart her off to the Highlands to milk his cows and give him strapping Highlands babies while he stomped about in his great boots. No, no, no.
“Well, that’s what we’re about tonight, isnae?” He unceremoniously took the empty seat beside her while his mother and silent younger brother sat beside her parents. “Tell me someaught about yerself, then.” Lord Glendarril folded his arms over his chest.
He made her feel firstly like she was being questioned at the Old Bailey, and secondly like some sort of harpy who’d sacrificed a goat in order to find herself a husband. Amelia-Rose opened and closed her mouth again. What in the world was she supposed to say to that? Clearly he wouldn’t approve or appreciate whatever she uttered.
Behind her, her mother reached forward to straighten one of Amelia-Rose’s sleeves. “My daughter has already received four marriage proposals, my lord,” Victoria said grandly, her voice pitched just loudly enough that those in the boxes on either side could overhear. “I daresay Amelia-Rose has secured her place as a diamond of the first water over the course of her two Seasons.”
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