It's Getting Scot in Here

by Suzanne Enoch

  Niall shook himself again. Stop it, ye idiot. “Do ye nae have a partner, Eloise?” he made himself ask.

  As he finished speaking, a tall, whip-thin young man edged forward, his hand outstretched as if he wanted to collect Eloise and at the same time stay as far away from her brothers as possible. “If I may, Lady Eloise?”

  “Who’s this one?” Aden asked, narrowing one eye.

  The tall lad swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a worm in a rook’s throat. “I … Um … I’m Frederick. Frederick Spearman.”

  Niall took a step closer. “Spearman, eh? Ye come from warrior stock then, Frederick? Did yer ancestors get bloody coming after mine?”

  “I … Oh, dear. The—”

  “Oh, stop it,” Eloise cut in with a nearly hidden grin, freeing her hands and rescuing Frederick from whatever the lad thought they meant to do to him. “Aden, go find your partner.”

  “She’s definitely a MacTaggert,” Aden commented, and strolled off to take the hand of a very large, pink-cheeked lass.

  That was Aden, seeking out the ones who heard everything, who were generally ignored and discounted and for that reason knew everything about everyone. If there had been a lass without a partner he would have stood with her, himself, but as far as he could tell every lass who wanted to dance was doing so.

  The circle of dancers Amelia-Rose and Coll had joined turned and dipped and held fingers all the way across the ballroom. Even as he realized he would never be able to hear any of their conversation from where he stood, Niall stopped himself from relocating. Coll might bark at her, but he’d never harm the lass—and she could hold her own. If she chose to do so. Whatever they might say was none of his affair, anyway.

  “I continue to appreciate your assistance in keeping Coll from making a disastrous decision.”

  Taking a breath, he looked away from the quadrille to face Francesca. “I told ye why I’m involved. Ye might consider that putting a bull and a swan together to suit yer own whimsy might have been a piss-poor decision to begin with. But then ye dunnae ken who Coll is, or Aden or me, so I dunnae reckon what we want figures into any of this meddling of yers.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You strike at me every time we speak. Your brothers just ignore me, which to my surprise I find preferable.”

  Niall inclined his head. “As ye wish.”

  Turning on his heel, he stalked over to the open balcony door and made his way through the crowd of parents and unmatched men to the wrought-iron railing. Lady Aldriss could say his brothers ignored her, but he was the one she kept approaching. Did she reckon he was the softest of them? Or that he had the fewest memories of her, and so had less reason to be angered by her departure?

  “You’re one of that Highlands mob that belongs to Lady Aldriss, aren’t you?” a very proper British voice boomed behind him. “You should be wearing a kilt so we recognize you.”

  Rolling his shoulders, Niall turned around. The man standing there was nearly his height, but broader and … squish-faced in a way that put his nose and mouth too close together and his eyes too low on his forehead. A toad, he decided. The fellow looked like a great, sullen toad. “Aye, I’m a Highlander, though I dunnae belong to anyone. Ye have an insult to hand me, I reckon. Get on with it.”

  The pair of men standing to either side of the toad sidestepped away from him a little. It might have been to make flight easier, or it might have been an attempt at flanking their quarry. Niall didn’t much care. All day he’d been angry, and tonight had put a nice, heady foam on his fury. He knew the exact reason for his anger, and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about Amelia-Rose’s future only made it worse. So there he was, and a fight seemed a damned fine idea.

  “There you are, Lord Eddlington,” Francesca cooed from the doorway. The toad stiffened his shoulders.

  “Lady Aldriss.” He inclined his head, no easy task, Niall imagined, for a man without a neck.

  “I had heard the silliest rumor, my lord,” the countess went on, gliding to stand between Niall and the toad, “about you letting go your chef. You must tell me if it’s true, because I would very much like to hire Miss Beasley if she’s left your household. She is a wonder.”

  “It was a disagreement over wages, my lady,” the toad grumbled. “All settled. She’s not available.”

  “I thought it must be a mistake,” Francesca went on with a warm smile, taking the toad’s arm and guiding him toward the ballroom door, his two toadies following along behind like dogs. “Everyone knows how fond you are of Miss Beasley’s … cooking. Do give her my regards.”

  With that she gave a small push, and abruptly she and Niall were alone again on the balcony. “That toad’s bedding his cook?” Niall commented, looking back inside through the window. “Poor lass.”

  “I never said any such thing.” She moved back in front of him again. “But that is how we battle here in London. Not with our fists.”

  “He started it. I reckon he wanted a brawl.”

  “Yes, he did. Everyone’s whispering about his affair with his cook, and with one punch he could have turned the gossip to those MacTaggert barbarians that Lady Aldriss set loose on London. He thought you an easy and convenient target, Niall.”

  He snorted. “I may have been willing and convenient, but in two seconds it wouldnae have been just me he had to worry about. Coll would’ve broken him in half if I didnae drop him first.”

  Francesca sighed. “That isn’t the point, my dear. Yes, the three of you could likely take on the entire male guest list here and triumph. But Lord Eddlington was attempting to use you. If you’d bloodied his nose, all the better. It’s not as if he has any good looks to protect, anyway.”

  That surprised him a bit. “Ye’ve insulted him now.”

  She shrugged. “I am a MacTaggert. I am the mother of MacTaggerts, and I am very proud of that fact. My weakness was that I need this battlefield. I enjoy the intricacies and intrigues of London. The direct, physical battle of living in the Highlands, and with your father, was more than I could bear. It broke me, Niall. It broke me, and I fled.”

  Inside the dance ended, with footmen wheeling in bowls of punch and trays of biscuits apparently to refresh the dancers for the next round of revelry. “I dunnae ken what ye want me to say. Ye left us. To me that said loud and clear that ye valued Eloise and London more than ye did the three of us.”

  She stepped closer. “That isn’t so. Not at all. I tried to take all of you. Your father wouldn’t have it. If I’d stayed you would have grown up between two parents who couldn’t stand to be in the same room together, who detested each other’s lifestyle and, eventually, each other. It would have been a household full of hate and loathing and resentment. So instead of that, you grew up in a household without a female.”

  He could see that; he understood it, now, at least. Back then, his clearest memory of that time was him demanding of his father that his mother return at once, and Lord Aldriss responding that MacTaggerts made do, and that they didn’t cry like wee bairns. At seven years old, it had very much seemed like the law. “I made do,” he said aloud. “We all did.”

  “But that doesn’t have to be the end of the story, my son. You have access to two worlds now. If you would try not to resent being here so much, you might find something—someone—you enjoy. And I am here, if you should ever want to chat about … anything. However far apart we’ve been in distance, you have always been in my heart.”

  “And I still reckon ye might have better luck with bringing us to yer table if ye’d asked instead of ordered. Now if ye’ll stop pecking at me like a mad hen for five minutes, I’ve some lass to go meet.”

  Maybe, eventually, they might find some balance, but tonight he wasn’t in the mood. He already had enough to mull over, and while he might owe her for stopping a fight before it could happen, he wasn’t ready to sit down and embroider a handkerchief with her.

  He had a long damned evening ahead of him, and evidently he meant to watch every dance�
��or rather, watch one woman dance with every man in the room except for him.

  * * *

  “I still cannot believe your parents would sacrifice you to a Highlander in exchange for his title,” Lord Phillip West said, taking Amelia-Rose’s hand to dip and turn with her, then releasing her to rejoin the line of male dancers. He caught her gaze with his soulful brown eyes, then moved in to circle her again. “Actually, I can imagine your mother doing precisely that,” he continued.

  Yes, so could she, even before Victoria had done it. Her father would enjoy it, of course, being able to puff out his chest and declare that yes, his daughter had married the heir to an earldom. For him that was as far as it went: a moment to brag to his fellows at some club or other. Her mother’s motivations were much deeper. Amelia-Rose couldn’t count the number of times Victoria Baxter had told the tale of how she’d very nearly caught the eye of the Duke of Ramsey, and how only a spilled glass of wine had sent His Grace into the arms of another.

  If defeating true love was as easy as bending over to retrieve a wineglass and missing an introduction, Amelia-Rose didn’t have much faith in such a thing. Missing a dance, however, could very well end an agreement, and it was tempting to slip away into the garden for five minutes. The waltz would be next. Coll wasn’t on the floor now, but he’d already given his opinion of dancing in general. His brother Aden was close by, dancing with—oh, goodness, he was dancing with Thalia Spenfield. If he wasn’t cautious he would be a married man by the end of the evening.

  Niall remained in the ballroom as well, as he had for nearly every dance this evening. He hadn’t danced any of them, though. She couldn’t help noticing him. She wasn’t the only one, either; at least eight of her female friends had managed to find a moment to take her aside and ask whether her beau’s brother was attached, if he preferred brunettes, or if he had a favorite hobby someone might use to take up conversation with him.

  Evidently none of her advice had been successful, because he remained alone, close by the blissfully cool air drifting in from the open balcony door. And while she didn’t feel like he was staring at her, their eyes met with a frequency that told her he was very aware of where she was, and with whom she danced. Just as she was aware that he wasn’t dancing, and that no young lady had caught his attention tonight. She shut her eyes for a heartbeat. He was meant for someone else, and she very plainly loathed that idea. Was that how he felt about her and Coll? Part of her hoped so, however wretched it was.

  “You’re being quiet,” Phillip observed, joining her again as they reached the end of the line and pranced back up the center of their fellows.

  “Am I?” She forced a smile. “This isn’t a dance conducive to deep conversation.”

  He chuckled. “That is true enough. Are you going to the Thames boat races on Tuesday? My brother may be down from York in time to join us.”

  She’d been smitten with his brother Lionel, the Marquis of Durst, since her first glimpse of his honey-colored hair and brown eyes even more soulful than his younger brother’s. If the marquis hadn’t recently been romantically linked to an heiress from Yorkshire, and if she didn’t have a great many other things on her mind, her heart would likely be fluttering at the idea of seeing him. “It would be lovely to see Lord Durst again. May I let you know in a day or two?”

  “Certainly. I’ll always save a place for you, Amy, regardless. You make the rest of us look better by the addition of your presence.”

  Amelia-Rose smiled. “You, Phillip, are a true gentleman.”

  London abounded with true gentlemen, true ladies, and excitement. Scarcely a day passed during the Season when someone didn’t offer to accompany her shopping, or to a museum, or a luncheon, or hundreds of other amusements. Even the past two years since she’d been out, since she’d discovered that while a girl might speak her mind, a lady did not, she’d had London to distract her. And a few friends who didn’t cluck their tongues at her when she expressed an opinion. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of this Town.

  And that was why she didn’t want to leave it. Certainly not for some brute who disliked her simply because she enjoyed a bit of culture and because she didn’t like being thought of as meek. If she remained in London as Lady Glendarril, everyone would know she’d made a mercenary marriage and then been abandoned. Would she still be able to do the things she loved? Niall—and Coll—had encouraged her to be the person she wanted to be, rather than the one she wanted to be seen as. And it was becoming more clear that those two ladies were very different. Oh dear, oh dear.

  The dance ended, and her heart began pounding more quickly as Glendarril reappeared in the ballroom. Lord Phillip offered his arm, ready to escort her over to her mother, or to her next partner. If she went to her mother, she would no doubt hear a litany of everything she should want and everything she should be doing to achieve it. With a sigh, she nodded toward the viscount. “If you please, Lord Phillip.”

  “He’s not going to eat me, is he?” Phillip muttered.

  That question actually struck her silent for a moment. Coll MacTaggert was undeniably formidable, but in order for him to take some sort of action, he would have to care that she’d danced with another man. And she honestly couldn’t conjure any expression, any word, that made her think he had any feelings for her at all other than annoyance.

  Rebecca Sharpe and Melpomeni Spenfield intercepted them as they left the floor. “Amy, why isn’t Niall MacTaggert dancing?” Melpomeni asked, eyeing him over her glass of pink punch.

  “There are more men than women here,” Amelia-Rose returned. “Perhaps he didn’t step forward in time.”

  “Or perhaps he was wounded doing one of those dangerous Highlands dances, and he cannot take the floor tonight,” Rebecca suggested.

  “Was he in the war? He might have been wounded there,” Elizabeth Sampson surmised, joining them.

  “You saw him two days ago. He wasn’t limping,” Amelia-Rose countered. For heaven’s sake. Sometimes a man didn’t dance simply because he didn’t wish to do so.

  “Is he shy?” Melpomeni asked, sending Niall a longing look.

  “Oh, he didn’t seem shy. He was very bold, in fact. It gave me the shivers.” Elizabeth Sampson shivered again for effect.

  “What gave you the shivers, Elizabeth?”

  “That brogue of his. And talking about living in the Highlands. Did you see his eyes? Such a light green. Maria calls them celadon.”

  At least they didn’t need her to participate any longer, Amelia-Rose reflected. She had enough on her plate. But now she could add the … concern over whether she would ever see Niall again if she did break with his brother. Would she and Eloise have to cease their friendship, as well? Or if she did marry Coll, would she and Niall chat from time to time? Would he call her adae in that way that made her shiver? How silly that her name in Gaelic sounded so … sensual.

  They reached Lord Glendarril, and with a nod Phillip released her. “Our second dance,” she said, shifting her hand to Coll’s arm.

  “Aye.”

  Amelia-Rose bit the inside of her cheek, holding back the desire to ask him some very pointed questions. Other people would overhear, and her mother would collapse on the spot if Coll abandoned her at the side of the ballroom. “We should have a little more opportunity to converse, at least,” she offered.

  “Aye.”

  Before she could roll her eyes at his apparent stoicism, the music began. She put one hand in his, placed the other very far up on his shoulder, and gasped a little as he put his free hand around her waist and plunged them into the dance.

  “What’s it to be, then?” he asked without preamble. “Married, or nae?”

  “Firstly, my lord, I’d like to be certain I have everything straight. Your plan is that we marry, you go back to Scotland and continue to live as a bachelor, and I remain in London. Yes?”

  “Aye. That about sums it up. Ye’ll be Lady Glendarril, and later Lady Aldriss, which is what ye want, I reckon.”
>
  “What about children?”

  “I’ll need an heir. Two would be safer. So we’ll have our marriage night, and if that doesnae do it, I’ll send for ye once in a while.”

  “Where will these children be raised?”

  “In the Highlands.”

  Without her, then. She would remain utterly alone, and be expected to tolerate all of it without comment. “And what of affection?”

  He snorted. “Ye ken this is an arranged marriage, aye?”

  Slowly she nodded, the awful, lonely horror of what lay before her clearly laid out in its most matter-of-fact, bleakest terms. She was grateful for that. It left no room for flights of fancy, of wondering whether they might eventually settle into a loving marriage. He didn’t intend to become well enough acquainted with her for that to ever happen. “I understand.”

  “Then we’re in agreement. I’m glad this nonsense is over with. We’ll wed as soon as I can arrange it, I’ll bed ye, and then head back north to where I’m needed.”

  If she’d been the fainting sort, the type of woman he expected and wanted her to be, she would have collapsed to the floor on hearing that. Instead, a loud buzzing started in her ears, one that got louder and louder until she realized it was the entirety of her, trying to scream.

  “Nothing is worth this,” she said aloud.

  “I beg yer pardon?”

  “What you’re proposing—and I use that term loosely—is that you go and do as you please, while I sit in a house somewhere, assuming that you’ve provided me with one, and have no companionship, no affection, no children to occupy me, nothing but the occasional summons from you to go to the Highlands so you can bed me, then send me home again.”

  “I reckoned ye could live with yer ma and da.”

  Oh, that settled it. “My main reason for agreeing to this was to be able to leave that wretched house,” she snapped. “No, my lord. You are an arrogant, thoughtless, self-concerned … buffoon, and I will not throw my life into a dustbin so you can continue shearing sheep and lifting the skirts of tavern wenches. I don’t care who signed what. I will not yield.”