Landing a Laird (Novella)

by Charles, Jane

  Gideon thumbed through the stack of invitations on his desk. Almost half of those he had already received were in the can beside his desk. Now he needed to determine which of the remaining were for meeting a future bride. Lydell wasn’t the only one who wished to find a wife this Season, but at least Gideon didn’t need an heiress. Not that Gideon had any intention of announcing his plan to wed. Such a statement would have women circling around him like vultures.

  Or perhaps not. Few wished to live on his estate, far removed from society and in the wilds. Perhaps, not so much the wilds, but between the steep hills and river that tended to flood on occasion, a person could be confined to the estate for an undetermined amount of time. The roads weren’t the best either. Carriages and wagons often got stuck in the ruts and mud as they climbed the road to his home, and more than a few turned back. It was a bloody shame, because the view was spectacular. The young women he met in Edinburgh were intrigued until they learned it wasn’t always a quick jaunt into town, and even worse, to Edinburgh. One would think, especially those young women from the Highlands, that a bit of mud and occasional flooding wasn’t much of an inconvenience.

  “You have got to help me.” Lydell burst into Gideon’s library. “My debts continue to pile up. Why didn’t my father say something?”

  “Pride, perhaps.” Gideon leaned back against his leather chair.

  “Well, his damn pride has me contemplating the Continent.” Lydell marched across the room and poured himself a glass of scotch whiskey, Gideon’s choice of beverage.

  “I could loan you the funds…”

  “Gads, no, man. I would never presume upon our friendship.” He poured a second glass, carried both to where Gideon sat, and placed one of them before him. “I need an introduction to this Lady Moira.”

  Such a match would solve Lydell’s problems. “I don’t know her, so I don’t know how to go about gaining an introduction.”

  “Doors are open to you everywhere, and mothers like you.”

  “They like you as well,” Gideon insisted.

  Lydell snorted. “That was last year. Only the most desperate wallflowers or those who wish for a title pay me any mind now.”

  There was some truth in the statement. Gideon had witnessed it the previous evening. Before Lydell’s empty coffers became fodder for the gossips, he’d had his pick from the crop of debutants each year. But last night, young women had actually tried to avoid him.

  “What would you like me to do?”

  Lydell brightened. “Gain an introduction, learn what you can, then arrange for me to meet her somewhere private.”

  “Arrange in private?” There was an odd tightening in Gideon’s gut.

  “Yes. If she wishes to compromise a fellow, and you think we’ll suit, then I’ll see it done.”

  “I am not picking your bride for you.” Lydell had gone around the bend. “You expect me to simply deliver her into your hands at some unknown location to be whisked north and across the border?”

  Lydell shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “You are mad.”

  “Please, Ainsely. I need an immediate solution to my problem.”

  Gideon studied his old classmate, in a near state of panic. “I will obtain an introduction, meet the chit, and somehow achieve an introduction for you in a proper setting. That is all.”

  Lydell brightened. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”

  Gideon sighed and picked up his glass. The smooth whiskey slid down his throat. “Where shall she be tonight? I will endeavor to bring this about.”

  “Davenport’s.”

  Bloody hell. The last place he wanted to be tonight was the Davenports’. The man had five daughters between the ages of ten-and-seven and two-and-twenty, and hadn’t managed to marry any of them off yet. In fact, that particular invitation was already in the trash. He’d met the Davenport daughters and, simply put, none of them would suit.

  “My maid has a sister who works in the household next door to—”

  “Spare me the details about how you know where Lady Moira will be, but this venue will not do.”

  “It must. You promised.”

  Damn it. He had. Gideon scowled. Lydell would owe him for this for the rest of his miserable years. “Very well.”

  Moira rushed to the entrance of Hyde Park, Beatrice trailing behind her. Oh, she hoped Pippa had waited for her. Her departure had been delayed when Mother made Moira change clothing and insisted on her hair being rearranged. What did it matter? She was wearing a bonnet, which covered most of her head. Then her scarf was all wrong. Moira had adorned five different ones before her mother finally approved. All this fuss and bother over a simple stroll in the park. If a gentleman dismissed her on account of her scarf, then he wasn’t worth considering.

  Lady Philippa Casemore waited for Moira by the entry gate, her maid just a few feet away. “I am so sorry I am late,” Moira said as she linked arms with her friend and headed toward Rotten Row.

  “It’s no bother,” Pippa insisted.

  Moira cast a sidelong glance at her friend. Pippa looked rather pale this afternoon. “Are you feeling well?”

  “Better than this morning.”

  “Oh dear. Probably from too much fun at the Heathfields’ last evening.”

  Pippa only offered a weak smile. Perhaps it hadn’t been as enjoyable as Moira had imagined. She would find out soon enough, but first she needed to get her friend’s advice. “I have something to tell you, but you cannot tell anyone else.”

  Pippa leaned her head closer to Moira’s. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

  And thank heavens for it. The two had been so close the last few years at the Broadmoor Academy. Moira didn’t know what she’d have done without her dear friends, the only other souls who knew how desperately Moira needed to escape her mother. “I made an innocent comment to Alvina last evening that was somehow overheard. Now my name is in the White’s betting book. Mother is going to have an apoplexy when she learns of it.”

  Pippa’s eyes widened in surprise. She started to speak, but Moira cut her off, afraid of being censured by her level-headed friend.

  “I plan to make it work to my advantage, however.”

  “Make it work to your advantage? Oh, Moira, how could you possibly do that?”

  “My name is now known in a rather important gentleman’s club. Given Mother whisked me away from the ball last evening after only an hour, this may be my only chance to be known.”

  “Oh, Moira—”

  But Moira cut her off once more. “Granted, it wasn’t my plan to have all of society know I am willing to compromise a gentleman to get what I want, but at least now suitable candidates will seek me out, and I can choose the best Scot for the position.”

  Pippa stopped and Moira turned to face her friend. “You think it’s a horrible plan, I can tell. But, Pippa, you don’t understand what it’s like to live with my mother.”

  “It’s not that.” Pippa winced, and though it looked like she meant to say more, she only pursed her lips.

  “Then what is it?” Moira prodded.

  Pippa face fell even more. “Yours isn’t the only name in White’s betting book.”

  “It’s not?”

  A mirthless laugh escaped her friend. “Apparently I am to be bedded by Lord St. Austell before the Season is out.”

  The devilish rake her mother had warned her from? And Pippa? Moira didn’t try to hide her amusement. “I’m sure there are worse fates.”

  Pippa’s mouth fell open. “You know him?”

  Only by sight. “No, but mother pointed him out to me last night with dire warnings.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Why, we just passed him. He was with Lord Heathfield.” Moira turned around to find the scoundrel in question. “He was right over…” But Pippa was gone, almost as though she’d vanished in thin air. “Pippa!” Moira called. Good heavens, where did she run off to? They were to have tea with Pa
tience Findley and Georgianna Bexley-Smythe after their walk.

  “That’s her? Lady Moira?” Gideon asked.

  “The very one,” Jordan answered with an unrepentant grin.

  Gideon studied the young woman whom Lydell would probably marry. The obnoxious bonnet shaded most of her head, but a few ringlets escaped. Red, the shade of sunrise. And, he could well understand why she used the parasol to shade her face from the sun. Such a pale complexion could burn in a matter of moments. I wonder if she has freckles. I’ve always been partial to them. High cheek bones and a delicate nose were a fine match to the thin, arched eyebrows and full lips. Had she applied cosmetics, or were they naturally red?

  Lydell would be quite pleased indeed. A fortune and a lovely face. What more could a man wish for? However, he knew his friend well enough that her shape, what Gideon could determine in the current fashion, was not Lydell’s preference. He liked slight ladies, narrow hips and smaller breasts. Lady Moira possessed none of those attributes. He wouldn’t exactly describe her as buxom, but she was far from lacking.

  “Ah, here is our chance for an introduction.”

  Gideon tore his eyes away from the lady and looked to his friend.

  Lord and Lady Hearne approached Lady Moira. “As we are all friends, here is your chance and maybe you can avoid the blasted Davenports’ this evening.”

  Hearne and his wife reached Lady Moira a few moments ahead of Gideon, but he could overhear their conversation.

  “Weren’t you supposed to be with Lady Philippa this afternoon?” Hearne inquired, a slight edge to his tone. Of course the man would be more protective than usual, given his sister’s sudden notoriety.

  “She was just here. I turned my back for only a moment and she disappeared.”

  “Mother will not be happy if she finds out you were here unaccompanied.”

  “Beatrice is with me.” Lady Moira pointed to a young maid standing but a few feet away in deep conversation with another servant.

  “I can see that Beatrice is doing her job in keeping a keen eye on you.”

  “Oh Nyle, it has only been for a few moments. I survived unscathed, I assure you.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Hearne,” Gideon greeted as he finally reached his destination.

  The three turned to look at him and Jordan.

  “Ainsely.” Hearne stuck his hand out and shook it. The earl was not so warm in his greeting of Gideon’s companion, however. “Mr. Trent.”

  Odd. The two were friends. Why the coldness from Hearne? Perhaps the earl took issue with the appreciative way Jordan was looking at his sister. Actually, Gideon didn’t like it one bit either, now that he thought about it.

  “Have you met my sister, Lady Moira Kirkwood?”

  “I have not had the honor.” Jordan stepped forward, grasped the lady’s gloved hand, and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Mr. Jordan Trent at your service.”

  A blush formed on her cheeks as she drew back her hand. Jordan did have a way of making young women fancy him.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Gideon executed a slight bow to the lovely young woman. Her grey eyes studied him. While she didn’t blush as she had under Jordan’s scrutiny, slight crinkles appeared around her eyes and a smile came to her lips. And there was a light smattering of freckles across her nose. A lovely face, indeed.

  “This is Lord Ainsely, since he seems to have forgotten his own name for the moment.”

  Gideon couldn’t believe he hadn’t actually introduced himself, even though Hearne should have done that for him in the first place, and probably would have it Jordan hadn’t absconded with the lady’s hand before anyone could get another word in.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you both.” She dipped into a quick curtsey.

  “Will either of you be attending the Davenports’ ball this evening,” Lady Hearne asked, probably to make conversation since an uncomfortable silence had ensued.

  Jordan frowned. “I have other plans.”

  It had been Gideon’s intention to forgo the affair as well, having now accomplished his goal in meeting with Lady Moira, but now… “I plan on being present.”

  Jordan and Hearne both looked at him as if he were mad. Perhaps he was. Why else would he agree to attend the Davenports’ when there was no longer a reason?

  Moira shifted from one foot to the other. She’d promised Pippa to watch the door for Lord Colebrooke, but having never seen the gentleman, how would she know him if he walked in? Instead, she trained her eyes for St. Austell, so she could point him out to Pippa, so her friend could avoid that gentleman in the future. If only she could have stayed longer at the Heathfield ball last evening. Perhaps she could have saved her friend much embarrassment.

  She quickly glanced about the room and to where her mother was speaking with other ladies. Moira maneuvered herself to the side of her friends, directly out of her mother’s line of vision. Perhaps if she wasn’t seen, she would be forgotten and allowed to enjoy this ball. Not that she held out any hope. Last night had been a crush, and the Davenports’ ballroom was barely half-filled; most of the guests were young ladies and their chaperones. Where were the gentlemen tonight? Too busy placing stupid bets in stupid books?

  She focused back on the door and waited. “Perhaps he attended another function.”

  Patience smiled sadly. “This is hardly the event of the year.”

  “Hopefully we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” Georgianna Bexley-Smythe added.

  Moira couldn’t agree more. Having listened to the names announced, not one sounded remotely Scottish.

  Patience tugged Pippa’s arm, pulling her closer into their group of four. “What did happen last night?”

  Pippa shook her head. “I don’t remember a thing. I don’t even remember arriving at the Heathfields’. I don’t remember encountering Mr. Potsdon. I don’t remember St. Austell.”

  “He is quite handsome,” Moira offered. “Pity he’s not a Scot.”

  “So you said earlier, but I can’t believe he could even hold a candle to Lord Colebrook.”

  Moira focused back on the doors as two gentlemen appeared. She hadn’t been paying enough attention to hear their names announced, but she’d met one of them in the park earlier. His eyes scanned the room slowly, stopping when they found her. He nudged his friend and nodded in her direction so slightly that Moira would have missed it had she not been paying so close attention. The gentleman accompanying him narrowed his eyes and peered at her. Who was he and why were the two so interested in her?

  She turned her back and tried to focus on the conversation occurring between her friends, but his eyes burned into her back. Not the stranger, but Lord Ainsely. Now there was a gentleman who could make a girl’s heartbeat increase. While his friend, Mr. Jordan Trent was not without his charms, it was Ainsely's deep brown eyes that caused her heart to hitch earlier today. Goodness, the man was so tall, and from the looks of him strong, unless he padded his clothing as so many gentlemen were rumored to do.

  “Lord Brody McTavish.”

  Moira perked up at the announcement and wheeled around to see a gentleman standing in the door, and her heart sank instantly. He was all of five foot two, and almost as round, with a balding head.

  “There is your Scot.” Georgie nudged her.

  The man couldn’t be younger than fifty years. “This may be more difficult than I thought.”

  Too bad Ainsley wasn’t Scottish. He would do perfectly. Moira sighed and let go of that dream as her brother appeared at her side. “Mother is asking for you.”

  A groan escaped Moira. “Do I really have to go? Can’t you just stand here with me? That will take care of propriety.”

  A smile pulled at Nyle’s lips. “That would be my preference as well, but she is demanding that both of us be at her side.”

  Moira turned to her friends. “Sorry, I must go.”

  She crossed the vast ballroom floor and took a place by her mother.

  “I he
ar arsenic works,” her mother stated out of nowhere.

  “For what?” Moira was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “Hair. We need to do something about that dreadful color.”

  Moira’s hand went to the back of her head. She rather liked her hair as it was. She’d inherited it from her grandmother, Fiona MacLachlan. At least that was how the woman had been known before marrying Moira’s grandfather.

  “It won’t do and is probably the very reason you have not received a voucher yet.”

  “Voucher?”

  Her mother turned to her and huffed. “To Almack’s. What other voucher is there?”

  Moira shrugged and glanced toward Nyle. His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

  “Ah, there is Lady Aldridge. I’ll be right back.”

  Moira relaxed when her mother finally moved away.

  Nyle leaned in and whispered, “You do know the real reason you won’t be receiving a voucher, don’t you?”

  “Oh, hush. I hadn’t considered that ramification of the silly bet.”

  “There is nothing silly about your name being in the book at White’s.” he hissed before glancing around. “Does Mother know?”

  That was Moira’s biggest fear, and she didn’t know how harsh a reaction the woman may have. “Not yet.”

  Gideon stood beside Lydell, sipping a glass of wine. Lady Moira was directly across from him, dressed in a lovely lavender gown, a few shades lighter than the heather that dotted the landscape back home. Her hair glowed like a burst of sunlight beneath the candles. She was a lovely lady indeed. And soon she would be Lydell’s.

  A pain stabbed his gut. Why should it bother him? It wasn’t as if he even knew the chit. Her brains could be nothing but mush. While she may fill out the gown to his preferred specifications, she could easily bore him into madness. He would much rather have a plain, thin, interesting wife than a buxom, beautiful featherbrain for those weeks they could be trapped together at the estate.