by Platt, Meara
“Aye, I’ve heard of her. She’s well known in Scotland, too. Baroness Moray. She raises the finest horses, including the grays we purchase for our regiment.”
“The ton is shocked by her, of course. Graelem is quite proud of her abilities. He is not ashamed to let everyone know he defers to her decisions in all matters concerning their stables.”
“That’s because he’s a pragmatic Scot. We judge on merit, not on inane rules designed to shut others out.”
She nodded in agreement. “Those rules are quite repugnant, aren’t they? Laurel has to make special arrangements to view the bloodstock whenever there is an auction at Tattersalls. In public, the men who run these horse auctions pretend to be appalled by her, but they all privately come to her begging for advice. It’s so unfair, and who are they fooling?”
He loved to hear her talk, for her voice held a musical quality. “We have more respect for women in Scotland. We dinna have these same restrictions in our societies or our daily life.”
“My cousin Lily also enjoys living in Scotland. Her husband is Ewan Cameron, the Duke of Lotheil’s grandson. She’s active in several of Edinburgh’s most distinguished academies. However, no matter her abilities, London’s Royal Society will never admit her as one of their own. If not for Ewan’s grandfather, she would not even be permitted to lecture there. He’s chairman, and he’s a crusty, old goat who loves to stick it to those stodgy blowhards on his board of directors.”
He nodded. “She lectured there recently.”
“Nearly causing a riot among the Fellows.” Heather grinned. “Yes, she wrote a brilliant monograph on baboon colonies. She takes great delight in comparing the Fellows to her baboons. They’d run her out of London if they could, but they dare not while the duke remains as chairman and wields tremendous power over them. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the votes to change their rules and allow women to be admitted as members. But he does hold sway over who lectures there and takes glee in scoffing at these antiquated restrictions.”
She paused a moment and pensively stroked Gallant’s nose. “The duke used to be her biggest detractor, and now he’s her staunchest ally. I suppose miracles can happen. Do you believe in miracles, Robbie?”
“No, lass.”
She laughed lightly. “Also a pragmatic Scot, are you? And I was raised to be a little princess. Always pampered and indulged. It feels empty. But I think I can do good for those in need once I am a marchioness. I don’t mind working hard. I would love to feel useful. I haven’t even discussed this with Tilbury. Do you think he’d forbid my charitable work?”
“I dinna know. Why haven’t ye asked him?”
She nibbled her lip, now fretting. “I should have, shouldn’t I? There’s so much we haven’t discussed. I close up when I’m around him, Robbie. I don’t know why. It isn’t his fault. I think he’d listen. The problem is with me. I want to do something important, but I don’t know where my strengths lie.”
In the next moment, she rolled her eyes and cast him one of her magical, impish grins. “I do know my weaknesses, however. I am dreadful when it comes to science. Lily shall have no competition from me.”
“You’re a clever lass. I’m sure it was the instructor’s fault for failing to make it interesting to you.”
She shook her head and let out a sparkling laugh. “Oh, my poor tutor. I think my parents chose him purposely because he was a crushing bore, and they did not wish him to turn me into a bluestocking. After all, how was I to attract a marquess if I buried my nose in books?”
Too bad Heather had been discouraged from exploring her scientific mind. This might have been something he could have offered her and something to bind them. In Scotland, she would have been treated as an equal in all her research undertakings.
He handed the reins to Violet’s groom and glanced toward the house. “Is yer Uncle George here yet?”
“Yes, he’s in the study. He just looked in on Violet and assured us that all is proceeding in the ordinary course. But he’ll stay close, and he’s brought his medical bag, just in case.”
“I need a moment with him. Why don’t you fetch the book and wait for me in the garden?”
She pursed her lips as she studied him. “It’s the gash, isn’t it? You do need stitches. I knew it.”
He groaned. “Pixie, just get the book and meet me outside. All right?”
“Are all Scots as thickheaded as you?” She left him to run upstairs.
He strode into the study, relieved to find George Farthingale in there alone. “Doctor, may I trouble ye a moment?”
“Come in, Captain MacLauren. What can I do for you?”
Robbie shut the door behind him and pointed to the injured spot. “I managed to slice my arm earlier this morning. I’ve doused it in whisky, but I think it requires a few stitches.”
George nodded. “Have a seat. Let me have a look at you. It will give me something to do while I wait around for Violet to need me. Hopefully, the babe will come without a problem, and I’ll be totally irrelevant. Take off your jacket and shirt. Let me see what you’ve done to yourself.”
Robbie glanced at the door.
“No one will come in. Violet’s butler is showing everyone into the parlor. They’ve set up refreshments for their visitors. John’s in there now, acting as host. Sophie’s still upstairs with Violet, but she’ll be down soon to greet any visitors who come by.”
He shed his jacket and shirt, then carefully removed the binding from his wound.
George’s expression revealed nothing as he studied the gash. “You’ve done a good job of cleaning it. Nasty looking thing. How did it happen?”
“A piece of wood broke off and tore through my shirt and jacket, piercing my arm.”
He arched an eyebrow as he felt along Robbie’s arm. “Doesn’t appear any of the splintered wood lodged in your skin. Good. Any connection to the shattered bench in Violet’s garden?”
He gave a light groan. “Yes.”
George sighed. “I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t want to know how it happened or why it happened. Since Violet is the size of a small whale at the moment and happily married to Romulus, I must assume this broken bench is somehow connected to Heather.”
Robbie grimaced. “Do ye really wish for an answer?”
“No.” He reached into his medical bag and removed the needle and sutures. “The whisky you’ve rubbed on it ought to keep the area numb while I work on you.”
Robbie nodded. “I’ve been shot before and speared with a bayonet. I can manage a few stitches.”
“You fought with the Scots Greys.”
“Aye, but no serious battles until Waterloo. We primarily served as support for the English regiments. We were ambushed more than a few times in the course of the war, so the Greys were experienced going into this final battle.” He pointed to his side, where there was a hardly noticeable scar. “A rifle shot grazed me here. The bayonet wound was more serious. Left a scar along my thigh. Bastard tried to slice my leg open. Fortunately, I managed to shoot him before he succeeded.”
They continued to chat as George treated him. “I served as a doctor in the Peninsular War during those early years,” George said, concentrating on his stitches.
“It must have been rough. I was too young to join then, but I wanted to. I tried to sneak away to enlist once when I was all of fifteen, but my granduncle, the Earl of Caithness, caught up to me in Aberdeen. He boxed my ears and threatened to toss me in the dungeon if I dared to run off before I turned sixteen.”
George glanced up. “That’s still too young.”
“I know. But I did no’ think so at the time. I wanted to join the fight.”
They were too busy talking to hear the light knock on the door. Or had Heather even bothered to knock? The next thing Robbie knew, she was stepping into the room uninvited.
George looked up. “Heather, what are you doing in here? Shut that door!”
Instead of running out, she merely closed the door behind he
r and rushed to Robbie’s side. “I knew it! How badly is he hurt, Uncle George?”
“Heether, get oot.” Robbie gritted his teeth, his brogue on full display as he shouted at her. He was furious she’d come in here. Was she trying to get them caught in a compromising position? Did she think the presence of her uncle would save her from ruin?
It wouldn’t.
She set her book aside and sat on the opposite side of him, taking his hand even though he did not want her touching him. “How long will this take?”
“I’m done,” George said. “Twelve stitches in all. The problem is not with his arm. It will heal now that I’ve sewn it up. I’m going to apply a poultice to it and bind it again.”
Heather wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. The same smelly unguent you gave Ronan when he was injured?”
George nodded. “Yes, the very same.” He quickly applied it and rebound the bandage. “Get dressed, Captain MacLauren, before you draw more women in here.”
Heather frowned. “It’s only me, Uncle George.”
He shook his head and gazed heavenward. “Only you? Heather, you do realize you are the worst person to be in here, don’t you? Are you, or are you not about to marry your marquess?”
“She is,” Robbie said at the same time she blurted, “I don’t know.”
Robbie’s heart stopped in that instant. But he quickly regained his senses and ran a hand through his hair in consternation. “Blessed, bloody saints. Are ye serious, lass? This has been yer lifelong dream.”
“Then why is everyone insisting we read the book together? No one trusts me to make the right decision. You all think I’m a child and don’t know my own mind. You all think you know what I need better than I do.”
Robbie gave her hand a little squeeze. “Ye’re right. But that’s what comes of having meddling families who wish ye to be happy. They’re doing it out of love because they want you to make a true love match.”
He rose, bringing her up with him. “Turn around while I put on my shirt.”
She turned to face her uncle, watching him close up his medical bag. “Uncle George, why is everyone worried that I don’t love Tilbury? He’s a good man. A kind person. I like him very much. How is this terrible?”
He frowned at her. “How did you get that cut on your cheek? That bench?”
“No, a flying book. It hit me in the face. Robbie tended to it.”
He grunted. “He did a good job. But that’s what comes with learning more than a little medicine on the battlefield, right MacLauren?”
Robbie nodded as he finished tucking in his shirt and donning the jacket of his uniform. “A matter of necessity if one hoped to survive the war.”
“Heather, borrow a little powder for it from Hortensia. That ought to hide the cut and bruising well enough.”
“Thank you, Uncle George. I will.” She turned to Robbie now that he was decent. “Let’s get through this book before noontime.”
They’d been up since before cock’s crow, and although it felt as though half the day was gone, it was barely nine o’clock in the morning. After thanking her uncle again, he strode outside with Heather. She had spread the blanket under a shade tree. She placed the book atop the blanket while he settled with his back propped against the trunk of the tree.
Heather sat beside him.
“Did ye have a chance to read any of the chapters before I arrived?” He casually pillowed one hand behind his head and tilted his face toward the sun as it filtered through the leaves.
“I managed to read the first three chapters and then skimmed through the others. I was worried that you were going to defy my uncle’s wishes and not come back.”
“I told him I would. I keep to my word.”
She placed a hand gently on his forearm. “I know you do, Robbie. I was only teasing you.”
“Shall we start at the beginning?” he asked, still feeling the heat from her touch even after she’d slipped her hand away.
“And talk about the man’s low brain and high brain? I think I understand the concept. But is it true, Robbie? Do men really have two brains?”
“Aye, lass. Although I’m more of a mind to call it two parts of the same brain. One part contains our youthful, immature yearnings and desires. It is the thoughtless brain that indulges our urges without regard for others. We see a pretty lass and want her. We think nothing of taking her and then going on our merry way.”
“The book says this is the true nature of men. That you are not fashioned to be faithful to just one woman but are compelled to…mate with as many females as possible in order to produce offspring.” She frowned but continued. “For this reason, you seek out healthy females. You regard us as you would your breeding stock.”
Robbie sighed. “It is no’ a pretty way to describe the way we men think. I suppose it could be said the marriage mart is not much different than an auction at Tattersalls. Young women are paraded before us so that we may select the one who is right for us. We fancy it up with balls and musicales and elegant supper parties. The ladies bedeck themselves in fine gowns and sparkling gems. But it is all for one purpose, to obtain a marriage proposal, and then get on about the business of breeding heirs.”
“You make it sound awful, Robbie.”
“I dinna mean to. It is the way of life for all creatures, perhaps with some variation, but always necessary for our survival. Women have their needs as well. Just as a male desires to sire offspring, the female requires her male to remain faithful in order to protect her and their offspring.”
“Or else they’d be eaten by wolves. That’s what it says in the book.”
“Aye, lass. So, at some point, the man’s brain must adapt to this rational need and remain faithful to the woman he’s chosen to bear his sons and daughters. The ability to adapt to that rational need is the man’s higher brain function.”
She was looking at him as she spoke, hanging upon his every word as though gold spewed from his lips. He was merely explaining the thoughts of the author who wrote the book.
“Violet is a perfect example of this. Isn’t she, Robbie? She is now having Romulus’s child. She is at her most vulnerable.”
“Aye, and no doubt Romulus is mad with worry and desperate to get back here in time to be by her side.”
She cast him a wry smile. “Obviously, he has a well-defined higher brain. He wants to protect Violet with all his heart and soul.”
“As any decent man would want to do with the woman he loves. As the book says, he canno’ simply mate with her and then abandon her and their offspring. They are no’ in danger from real wolves, of course. Those beasts represent any danger a woman at her most vulnerable would have to face. This is why Romulus has made certain Violet has a proper home, food, and shelter. He also knows his family and hers will protect her whenever he is not here to do it. But this is also why Violet chose him as her husband. He is the powerful male she knows will protect her and their children from harm.”
“Is this why I am drawn to Tilbury?”
“It is one of the reasons. There ought to be more, but those are described in the next chapters.”
She pinched her lips. “I want to know more about that low brain function, the one that compels a man to mate with healthy females. Does this describe you, Robbie? Is this how you look at all women? Is this how Tilbury looks at me?”
He did not particularly like the way she thought of him. Of course, he’d built up a reputation in his younger days that he was not proud of and could not seem to shed even though the worst of it was in the past. “I think Tilbury has a well-developed high brain function. He may have looked at your body at first glance and liked what he saw, but he quickly moved beyond it to choose you as his life mate. I canno’ fault him for his judgment.”
“Is this also what you noticed about me first?” She blushed. “The book says a man looks at a woman’s…bosom first. Is this what you did?”
One of the things he’d learned in reading the book was the need for honesty. He
could only ever tell Heather the truth, no matter how difficult it was to reveal. In this instance, it was not difficult at all. Indeed, it was a revelation to him because he’d never given it much thought until just now. “No, the first thing I noticed about ye was your smile and the starlight in your eyes. Only afterward did I bother to look lower.”
“Is this what you usually do?”
“No, mostly I am exactly the sort of low-brain male this book describes. Eyes drawn to a woman’s bosom. Then afterward, the rest of her body. Last, I look at her face. In my lowest moments, there were times I dinna even bother to look at the woman’s face. But that’s all in the past now.”
She tucked her legs under her, all the while casting him a dubious look. “Truly?”
“Aye, truly.”
She appeared to accept his response, although her lips were now puckered in thought. “Why was it different with me?”
He closed his eyes. “I dinna know. It just was. Because I knew right away ye were someone special. Lass, ye were never someone I would bed and then abandon. Ye were never someone I could forget.”
“Do you think Tilbury feels the same way?”
He turned to glance at Heather. Who would not fall in love with this beauty? “He must if he’s asked ye to marry him. What has he said to ye about it?”
“Nothing.”
He sat up, knowing Heather must not be understanding what he meant. “Has he never complimented ye?”
She nodded. “He usually says I look pretty.”
“And?”
“Sometimes he says I look very pretty.” She looked as though she was starting to fret. “Should there be more?”
Aye, breathtaking. Spectacular. Beautiful. Magical.
“Perhaps once ye’re married and can spend time alone, he’ll tell ye how he truly feels. There is no’ much a man can say to ye when ye’re always in a crowd. Especially one as well-heeled as his circle of friends.” Although what would it have taken for Tilbury to steal a moment and whisper sweet nothings in Heather’s ear? Or talk about anything that crossed his mind. Did he not wish to share his thoughts and feelings with his own betrothed?
