A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

  Mr. Gardiner nodded. “I cannot overstate how popular that book is. It has only been out for two years, but it has already sold more copies than any other book of poetry. Why, there were eight editions published in 1810 alone! Everyone is quoting The Lady of the Lake and talking about the romantic Highlands. Yes, they will come, as soon as they know where to stay. That is where this book comes in.”

  Elizabeth said wryly, “Surely it is an improvement to have the Highlands called romantic rather than savage. And would it not be pleasant to have the English give you money legally?”

  “Very pleasant,” said MacLaren the Younger.

  The chieftain leaned forward. “What would you need us to do to make this guide a reality?”

  “I need descriptions of places to see, especially anything connected to The Lady of the Lake. Vistas are always popular. Some history of the area, and stories of the people who live here. The writing need not be fancy; my writers in London will edit it. Perhaps some quotes from the MacLaren,” said Mr. Gardiner with a nod to the chieftain. “I will need to send an artist here to make engravings of the area. That will take time.”

  Aunt Emmeline pronounced, “There is one other thing you need.”

  “What would that be, madam?” asked Mr. Gardiner with an expression of polite interest.

  “Someone who is a friend of Walter Scott who could ask him to write the preface,” she said smugly.

  Mr. Gardiner’s eyebrows rose. “Are you such a friend?”

  “I am. He is a great patron of our theatre.”

  Mr. Gardiner beamed. “That, madam, would be enough to guarantee the success of our travel guide against any other.”

  Georgiana timidly approached Mr. Gardiner carrying a sheaf of papers. “These are not very good, but if they could be of use to your artist, I would gladly spare them in order to help the people here.”

  Mr. Gardiner examined her first few sketches and showed them to Mrs. Graham. “Are these recognizable?” he asked her quietly.

  “Aye, easily. They are very fine, lass,” said Mrs. Graham.

  Mr. Gardiner tapped his fingertips on the table. “You have an excellent sense for the picturesque, Miss Darcy. May I take some time to consider this? Your illustrations might allow us to put out a pamphlet about this particular area quickly while we are working on a larger book to include more of the Highlands, but I must consider whether that would be the wisest course.”

  The MacLaren’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis clear why it would be in our best interest for you to feature our land in your guide, but I dinna trust a man when I dinna know what he has to gain from it.”

  Mr. Gardiner raised his eyebrows. “Why, a better book which will interest more people and sell more copies. Any publisher can hire a writer to describe an area, as I had intended to do originally. But you can tell of your legends, the history of the land, and all the details that will make this place come alive to the readers and give them a greater understanding of this part of the Highlands. The book will be a practical guide for travelers, but it will also be read by many people who will never be able to make the journey. They want to know more than how wide Loch Katrine is and how tall each mountain is. They want us to make the land come alive for them, as Walter Scott made the story of The Lady of the Lake come alive. If you tell us what your castle means to you, then we can make it mean something to them. Those who travel here will come already enamored of Clan MacLaren, eager to connect to your history.”

  “That is fair,” the MacLaren said grudgingly. He picked up the guide to the Lakes and began to look at it in more detail. “I will want to read this to see what your work is like.”

  “I pray you to do so,” said Mr. Gardiner.

  Duncan MacLaren said, “I will start on a more complete list of what people might like to see in the area, but before we conclude for today, I have a favor to ask of Miss Darcy. I think my father would greatly enjoy hearing you sing ‘My Heart’s in the Highlands.’ Would you be generous enough to perform it for us?”

  Georgiana blushed. “Will you sing it with me?” she asked shyly.

  He smiled at her. “If you wish, though he has heard me many times.”

  Mrs. Graham picked up her harp. “Shall I play for ye?”

  “Oh, yes, if you please,” said Georgiana.

  Although visibly nervous, the girl gave a creditable performance, and it seemed to soften the heart of the gruff chieftain, since he gave her warm praise afterwards that made her eyes glow. But then Elizabeth saw Darcy, looking somber, gesture to a footman who wheeled him out of the room. Was he in pain? The footman turned the chair to the right, rather than going straight ahead towards Darcy’s room, so presumably that was not it.

  Could he have been offended by the discussion? It was a reminder that her uncle was in trade, and not only that, he had dared to involve Darcy’s sister in it. Everyone else had been made so happy by Mr. Gardiner’s proposal, everyone except Darcy.

  The wisest thing would be to say nothing. Perhaps Darcy would realize for himself that he had always known Mr. Gardiner was in trade. But what if it now seemed too much to him, an actress aunt and a tradesman uncle in addition to the trouble she had brought to his family? Her throat tightened at the thought. Unable to bear the idea, she slipped quietly from the room.

  She found him in the study, his chair set before the empty desk, his head resting on his hand.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

  He straightened. “Nothing.”

  “Do you know how annoying it is when you say nothing is wrong when something obviously is? If you do not wish for your sister’s sketches to be used in the guidebook, you need only say so.”

  “I do not mind her drawings being used,” he said tiredly.

  “Or is it the reminder of my family’s connection to trade that you dislike?”

  He shot her a disbelieving look before lowering his head onto his hand again. “No. If you must know, I am worried about Georgiana, but it has nothing to do with your uncle’s book. If anything, that may be a good distraction for her.”

  “Oh.” How embarrassing. She had jumped to the wrong conclusion again. She sat down beside the desk and said in a more conciliatory tone, “Is your concern for her something you might wish to share with me?”

  He rubbed his temple. “It is nothing you or anyone is likely to be able to help with. She has grown too attached to this place, and from experience, I know she will have a very difficult time when we leave. I fear she will go into a decline. It has happened before.”

  Elizabeth eyed him. Did he realize it was more than just the Highlands that had won his sister’s heart? “Even though she has only been here a little more than a fortnight?”

  “It does not matter. When Georgiana falls in love with something, it is immediate and she does not recover quickly. If she recovers at all. It happens rarely, and it has never been something unobtainable before. She will be miserable for months, if not years.”

  “Truly? I am surprised. I would not have thought her prone to being demanding.”

  Darcy closed his eyes. “She is not at all demanding. That is the problem. She will not complain or create a fuss. She will simply grieve quietly, pick at her food, and become hopelessly sad.”

  “And you are certain she will have such trouble leaving the Highlands?” It seemed such an extreme reaction.

  “I cannot be certain, but I recognize the signs. Seeing her pleasure in there – you do not know how unusual that is for her. She is already crying herself to sleep over the prospect of having to leave. She feels things deeply, and her few attachments are very strong.”

  Elizabeth somehow managed to stop herself from asking whether quick attachments and unswerving loyalty were family traits. “That sounds like a difficult situation.”

  He sighed. “There is no easy answer. I have already agreed to bring her back here in the summertime. That seems to have provided some relief, and I hope it has reminded her the Highlands
will always be here for her to visit. I wish I thought that were enough.”

  Should she say something more, or would that be trespassing? But she had never been any good at pretending things did not exist. “Do her feelings for Duncan MacLaren play some role in this?”

  “I fear so. She has said nothing to me about it, but it is rather obvious. Even when he was engaged to you, she could not keep her eyes off him.” He hesitated. “I do not know what MacLaren thinks. I cannot believe he is oblivious to it.”

  She took a deep breath. “He knows. He is worried about it.”

  Darcy straightened. “He told you that?”

  “Yesterday, after they returned from Loch Katrine, he asked to speak to me privately. He wanted my advice on how to handle your sister’s obvious tendre for him. He knows he should be discouraging it, but he likes her and does not want to hurt her by being deliberately unkind, so he asked if I would talk to her and explain why the connection is inappropriate.”

  “Have you done so?”

  “Not yet. There has not been a good opportunity.”

  Darcy drummed his fingers on the desk. “I would have thought he would be delighted to have caught her interest, since he wants a rich wife.”

  “He is no longer desperate for money, thanks to you, and he is aware she is far out of his reach. More importantly, he is anxious not to offend you after your generosity to him, and he knows full well you would not want him to raise his eyes to your sister.”

  Darcy studied her. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Very well, I will tell you this, not because I think you need to know it, but to prove I am not keeping anything back. He finds your sister easy to talk to and could see himself falling in love with her, but he does not intend to break his heart over a woman he can never have.”

  Darcy took a long, calming breath. “Georgiana is without question too young, but she could do worse than him.”

  Elizabeth stared at him in shock. “Miss Darcy of Pemberley and a poor Highland chieftain’s son?”

  “I know. I can hardly believe I said that. She could easily make a much better marriage, and I would prefer not to have her so far away, but he is the first man outside the family she has ever been willing to speak freely to. She barely even talks to Richard.”

  “I suppose Duncan is easy to talk to,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “Are you worried something may happen between them? Something compromising?”

  “Oddly enough, no. It is clear that MacLaren would slit his own throat before doing anything that might offend me, and Georgiana... well, after her past experiences, I do not think she would permit any man even the slightest liberties. I would not have permitted them to spend so much time together if it were otherwise. I am only worried about Georgiana’s unhappiness.”

  She took his hand in hers. “It seems there is little to be done about it now. When we leave, either she will recover, or you will have to consider whether to permit her to make a ridiculously bad marriage – though, to be honest, it is no worse than the one you yourself are contracting, and perhaps it is better. He at least has no scandal attached to him.”

  He tugged hard on her hand until she half-fell into his lap. “I am contracting the best possible marriage.”

  Elizabeth laughed as she wound her arms around his neck. “To a disgraced woman with a broken engagement and an actress aunt and a mother from a family in trade?”

  “To the only woman who can bring joy to my heart,” he said, and then he claimed her lips with his own. “And tomorrow you will be my wife.”

  Chapter 19

  THE MORNING OF THE wedding finally dawned. Duncan MacLaren, Mr. Jack, and Mrs. Graham had come to Kinloch to help celebrate the occasion. The clergyman arrived late, a dour presbyter who made it clear he had no interest in helping the Sassenach, his presence owing solely to a special request from the MacLaren. The center of the drawing room had been cleared to make room for two rows of chairs and an improvised altar. A particularly intrepid servant had managed to find a few early sprigs of blackthorn and pussy willow to add a touch of color, but it was still a makeshift setting on a grey winter day, and an invisible storm cloud named Lord Matlock hovered overhead.

  Darcy did not care about any of it. At the end of the day, Elizabeth would be his wife, and that was all that mattered.

  Elizabeth’s eyes were shining. “I am so glad you are here to give me away,” she told Mr. Gardiner for at least the fifth time.

  Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “You have done remarkably well at gathering family under the circumstances. Why, even if you had planned this well in advance, you might not have had so many guests on either side! Two cousins and a sister for Darcy, and an aunt and uncle for you.”

  Darcy’s smile grew even broader. “I think Jasper should count as a relative on Elizabeth’s side, too.”

  Jasper, perched on the arm of Darcy’s chair, said, “I certainly should! And once you are married, I will have a formal connection to Mrs. MacLean, distant though it might be. I wish my mother could meet her someday. I think she would like her. But what am I saying? My mother would never be willing to talk to an actress.”

  “You might be surprised,” said Darcy. “Elizabeth, what would you think of inviting everyone to Christmas at Pemberley next year – your aunt and Jasper, the Gardiners, and any of the Fitzwilliam family willing to attend? Lady Matlock might well come, even if I have been disowned.” Lady Matlock would attend a house party in Hell if she thought it was her only chance to see Jasper. She would certainly talk to an actress if that was the price of contact with her son.

  Jasper tensed, but then relaxed again. “I suppose by Christmas I might as well tell them the truth, if we have not had to expose it by then.”

  The clergyman cleared his throat. “Are ye ready yet?” he said darkly, as if preparing to preside over a funeral.

  Before Darcy could reply, the butler staggered into the room with a cry of pain. No, not staggered; he had been pushed by a short man in uniform, trailed by an elderly gentleman. Without thought Darcy tried to rise to his feet in protest at this assault on household staff; Jasper shoved him back down, apparently equally without thought.

  Richard had already pushed his way to the fore. “Unhand him!” he thundered.

  The short officer stuck his nose in the air. “This is official business. Do not hinder me.”

  Richard appeared to grow several inches in height and breadth. “I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Army, and unless you outrank me, you will not lay hands on any person in this household without my permission, official business or not. Have I made myself completely clear?”

  The officer managed to glare and salute at the same time. “Sir,” he spat out resentfully, releasing the butler’s arm.

  The old man pointed a wavering finger at Mr. Jack. “That’s him, I tell you! He’s the one who robbed me! Arrest him!”

  Mrs. MacLean stepped in front of the officer. “Kindly inform me the meaning of this outrage! This is a family gathering in a private home.”

  The officer showed his teeth in a cold smile. “Forgive me, madam, but the magistrate has given me a warrant to arrest that man.”

  She extended her hand regally. “I will see this warrant of yours.”

  He dug in his pocket and sullenly held it out to her.

  Mrs. MacLean read it and laughed. “Why, my good man, this warrant is for Auld Jack! That gentleman is Mr. John MacLaren, my brother-in-law, the youngest brother of the clan chief, and a fine doctor. He is not a spring pup, it is true, but he is certainly not ‘auld.’ Why, Auld Jack was terrorizing travelers here when I was a young bride and my brother-in-law was still a schoolboy.”

  “Madam, I have my orders to arrest him for criminal activity,” the officer said stubbornly. “I must do my duty.”

  Mrs. MacLean turned to inspect Mr. Jack. “Well, I will admit I find the way he ties his cravat to be a crime in itself, but not enough to throw him in ga
ol.” She flicked two fingers outward.

  “His cravat?” cried Jasper in an outraged voice. “What of his waistcoat? Mud brown with puce embroidery and brass buttons. It hurts my eyes. No self-respecting highwayman would wear such a thing.”

  “Many self-respecting doctors will, though,” said Mr. Jack mildly. “It is a useful color for hiding bloodstains, not to mention vomit and spittle.”

  Jasper’s expression suggested he might soon produce vomit of his own. “MacLaren, you are spoiling my appetite, what little is left of it after the sight of that waistcoat. Kindly refrain from disclosing any further details of your medical practice.”

  Mr. Jack looked down his beaked nose at Jasper. “Gladly.”

  Jasper laughed. “Can you imagine that prosy bore holding up a carriage?” He jumped into the center of the room, one arm extended and his finger pointing as if it were an imaginary pistol. “Stand and deliver!” He raised his other hand to mime holding an open book. “And while you toss your valuables in the road, I shall read you a fascinating chapter from Herodotus, and afterwards you will answer my questions on how to treat disorders of the liver.”

  “Herodotus?” asked Mr. Jack. “Surely you mean Hippocrates.”

  Jasper gave an elaborate shrug. “Herodotus, Hippocrates, what difference is there?”

  Mr. Jack raised his eyebrows. “Apart from one being a Roman historian and the other a Greek physician?”

  “You see?” said Jasper to the officer confidingly. “A prosy bore. You would be doing us a favor by taking him away. He would be much more amusing if he were a highwayman. Why, I would give ten guineas to see him say, ‘Stand and deliver!’” He giggled at the idea.

  “That will be enough, Jasper,” said Mrs. MacLean quellingly. “Officer, you are making a mistake. This is a wedding, and I can personally vouch for everyone here. If you do not believe me, perhaps you will believe Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is the son of the Lord Chancellor, the Earl of Matlock. Permit me to present his cousin, Mr. Darcy, Lord Matlock’s nephew, whose wedding you have just interrupted. Did I mention that the man you wish to arrest is a doctor? He was invited here today because he saved Mr. Darcy’s life. Perhaps you will wish to explain to Lord Matlock why you arrested the man who saved his nephew’s life.”