by Jarecki, Amy
Goodness, why hadn’t Papa mentioned marriage to me?
At least he hadn’t named any suitors in his writings.
It also eased her mind considerably to know that Lord Seaforth was not an imposter. That he had joined with her father to pursue changes Papa believed in.
But why the ruse with the fragrance from Cologne?
She smoothed her fingers over the leather-bound journal.
Oh dear, possibly the same reason they were fired upon by the Royal Navy. They would have needed some kind of ruse if anyone suspected they were actually meeting with Prince James.
She hid the journal under a cushion and headed for her paints. She needed to think, and there was no better way to do it than with a brush in her hand.
One thing was for certain. Their Cologne scheme hadn’t fooled someone out there. Had someone tipped the officers off? Was Britain in the midst of three wars rather than two?
Heavens, there was far more to Papa than Audrey had ever imagined.
* * *
A few days had passed when the solicitor came to call. As he’d promised, Reid sent Gerald to collect Miss Audrey for the meeting, and they gathered in the library. The young lady opted to take the settee facing the hearth, and she sat with her hands folded in her lap. Reid and Mr. Watford took opposing chairs cornering the settee. Reid felt this a much less formal arrangement than sitting at the table in the drawing room, which he hoped put Audrey at ease.
Reid first went through all the formalities of explaining what happened and the reason for his involvement in the estate. “There is a gathering I must attend in Scotland at the end of summer, and I’d like to see a trust established to benefit Miss Kennet before I take my leave.”
“Apologies, my lord.” The man’s periwig jostled as he shook his head. “But it will take a fair bit longer than that. Mr. Kennet left no directives, and the estate must go into abeyance whilst we search for a male heir.”
Miss Audrey opened her mouth with a wee snort.
“Abeyance?” Reid sank his fingers into the cushions of the armrests. “Can that not be avoided? Clearly, Miss Kennet’s maintenance was of utmost concern to her father.”
“It is highly irregular to have a woman inherit, especially an estate as large as Mr. Kennet’s.” The man shook his head again. “An investigation must be done. ’Tis the law.”
Miss Audrey held up her finger. “But—”
“Since I am here,” Reid interrupted, “and able to look after things until a trust can be arranged, I wouldn’t think it would be necessary to keep Miss Kennet’s inheritance from her.” Mr. Watford made clear he sided with the common view that women were incapable of managing their own affairs. Anything Audrey said to the contrary would only make the man dig in his heels.
The solicitor drummed his bony fingers against his lips. “I do not know…”
Reid leaned forward. “Have any male heirs approached you with a claim on the estate?”
“No, not as yet.”
“Then it is settled. The estate will not go into abeyance during the time in which it takes you to set the legalities to rights.” Reid looked to Audrey. It was time to bring her over to his way of thinking. “My thoughts were to hold the estate in trust for you until a husband can be found.”
“Husband?” Her voice shot up as if she’d never considered the possibility of a betrothal.
“Yes, miss,” agreed Mr. Watford. “It would simplify things considerably if you were to marry.”
Audrey’s fists tightened in her lap as her lips disappeared into a straight line. Evidently, the idea of future wedded bliss did not sit well with the lass.
Fortunately, the solicitor continued with the agenda, and produced a few slips of parchment from his satchel. “Mr. Kennet did entrust me with an accounting of household effects, which I will need you to review and confirm all is still in the possession of the estate.” He handed the papers to Reid.
He leafed through them. “I believe Miss Kennet is best suited to such a task.”
Though she didn’t smile, her face brightened as she accepted the list from Reid with blue-paint-splattered fingers—the reason she had been clenching her fists so tightly. “Thank you for realizing my mind is full of more than just bird feathers.”
Mr. Watford crossed his legs and ignored the lass. “Have you been to the mine?”
Reid shook his head. “I must do that on my very next opportunity.”
“Mr. Poole will be anxious to meet with you, I’m sure,” said Audrey. “He and all the miners will want to know if we intend to keep operations going.”
The solicitor frowned and knit his brows. “Perhaps Miss Kennet would prefer to retire while we speak about business?”
She sat straighter, clenching her fists again, but this time her knuckles grew white. “Most certainly not,” she said, fixating on her hands.
Reid chuckled. “I’ll wager the lass kens more about mining coal than the two of us put together.”
The solicitor blinked dumbly from beneath his pompous wig. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but it is a well-known fact that women are slaves to their sex. A woman can no sooner run a mine than she can lift a fifty-pound boulder and throw it.”
Reid opened his mouth to issue a retort, but Audrey beat him to the punch. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Watford.” She looked up, revealing a pair of beautiful, astute blue eyes. “But I did not realize it took brutish strength to calculate a list of sums or to make a decision about prices, or markets in which to sell. As a matter of fact, my father, who founded the Coxhoe Mine, said a good business owner needed to be shrewd, well-spoken, and have an eye for profit.” She held up that blue-splattered finger and shook it while her face turned scarlet. “Yet he uttered not one word about tossing fifty-pound boulders.”
The solicitor’s eyes bugged. He looked to Reid as if the lass had just proved his point about being featherbrained.
But Reid refused to play the man’s game. It might be fortunate if Audrey knew about the business. She’d be able to coach her future husband as he takes up the reins. “See, Watford? The lassie obviously has benefited from her father’s tutelage.”
The man shifted in his seat with a grumble. “With talk like that, I ought to put the estate into abeyance forthwith. ’Tis the right thing to do, after all.”
“Och, things always have a way of sorting themselves out. Trust me.” Reid agreed with the solicitor on one thing, anyway. The sooner a suitor was found for Miss Audrey, the better.
They both looked at him as if they were each about to question trusting a Scot, but they held their tongues, thank God. Especially Miss Kennet. If she’d spoken out against him after he’d stood up for her, he would have been more than a wee bit disappointed. Her gaze lingered for a moment. When he grinned at her, she quickly looked to her hands, again folded in her lap, again hiding the paint splotches. Truly, there was far more to the lass than Reid had initially thought.
The meeting went on for about an hour before Mr. Watford made his excuses and Reid walked him to the door. “As I said, the best thing for Miss Kennet will be for her to marry. The sooner, the better.”
Reid clapped the man on the shoulder. “I’ve already started the wheels in motion—sent a letter to Lord Barnard to request the baroness’s assistance.”
“What about you, my lord? You’re single, are you not?”
“Me?” Reid batted his hand through the air. “I’m not ready to settle down. Besides, I’m far too busy. A wife would never see me at home.” He intended to avoid matrimony like the plague. He’d been quite adept at holding the subject at bay thus far, though he’d have to face his father’s promise eventually.
The solicitor snorted. “That mightn’t be such a bad thing.”
He motioned for Gerald to open the door and show the solicitor out. “I’ll have the lass betrothed by the end of the month, mark me.”
Of course, he should have known he’d rue those words. Miss Audrey met him at the top of the stairs with her
arms crossed. She even looked him in the eye. “What is this grand plan you have to hastily marry me to some stranger so that you can continue on with your demanding agenda?” She snapped her hand over her mouth like she’d uttered a curse—which she practically had.
Reid brushed past her and headed for the library. “Och, what did you expect once you’d graduated from finishing school? Were you planning a tour of Christendom? Sail to the Americas and pray not to contract scurvy and die on the crossing?”
She followed on his heels. “I expected to spend the summer strolling the gardens with my father.”
He marched through the library door and stopped. Good God, he felt like an arse every time he thought about Nicholas Kennet’s death. If only he’d been smarter. If only his damned pride hadn’t stood in the way, he could have told the lads to heave to. The poor man might still be alive. Reid closed the door and faced her. “I am sorry. And you have had so little time to mourn.”
“You cannot possibly know what it’s like to be in my position. I have no prospects, and I refuse to latch on to the first available suitor who passes by because I am desperate to marry.” She turned away and hid her face in her palms. “I-I would be mortified to meet some…some…man!”
Damnation, why did she have to discount the whole idea of marriage before she even had a chance to meet a parcel of eligible men in the north of England? And what was this sudden fear of men? She’d certainly proved her mettle to Reid.
He plopped down into the seat in front of the hearth. “No one is going to force you into doing anything.”
“It didn’t sound that way to me. I heard you, my lord.” She spat his courtesy as if it were a curse. “You said you would see me betrothed by the end of the month.”
“I was appeasing the solicitor. He was already on the verge of putting the estate into abeyance. All your father worked for would become the property of the kingdom until either you marry, or a male relative is found. You would be forced to request funds for everything you want to do. If you need a new gown—ask Mr. Watford, and then he would in turn have to submit letters explaining exactly why you need the new gown, or a horse, or a new wheel for your coach, or a new set of paints for your bloody fans.”
“Stop.” She threw up her hands, making the pieces of parchment with the inventory list scatter to the ground.
Reid dropped to his knees and reached for a page just as Audrey did the same. His fingers brushed hers. Such a minuscule touch, but his heart thumped. Holy saints, the accursed thing even fluttered.
Then a wee gasp slipped through her lips.
Not a gasp of fear but a bone-melting, feminine gasp. Audrey expressed more in that one wee sound than she’d done all afternoon. Reid could read far too much into that whisper. Attraction, being the first. Self-awareness, being another.
His gaze snapped to her mouth. Full lips curved in a rosy bow. They weren’t pursed, but slightly parted as if she wanted to smile but couldn’t allow it. Her high-boned cheeks blossomed with an adorable blush. And when Reid met her gaze, her eyes grew dark.
The first time he’d seen Audrey, her blue eyes had been swollen and red, her nose, too. But now there was no trace of a weeping, wilting English gel. She was a fully grown woman in her prime. A woman fresh out of finishing school who’d just lost her father and who was desperately trying to maintain control over the course of her life.
Reid gulped, his gaze again dropping to her lips. Had the lass ever been kissed? With lips as plush as Audrey’s, she certainly should be kissed, and often. When her teeth grazed over her bottom lip, he blinked, suddenly realizing he’d been staring.
“Ah…” Words refused to come to his tongue. He glanced to the parchment he still clasped and released. “You’d best have a look at that soon so we can advise Mr. Watford of any discrepancies.”
Her face grew even redder with her nod. “Yes, of course.” She collected the other bits of parchment and drew them against her stomach as if they could provide protection.
“My lord.” Gerald stepped into the library. “A letter has arrived from Baron Barnard.”
Chapter Seven
The following morning Gerald informed Audrey that she’d been summoned to the library by His Lordship. She had paced in her chamber wringing her hands before she started down the corridor. There was no doubt in her mind the earl wanted to speak to her about whatever was contained in Lord Barnard’s missive.
Marriage.
The word was like the death knell ringing from the church tower. Her throat thickened and she perspired as if the sun were shining straight on her face. Never in her life had she been so completely mortified. She couldn’t meet a man—a potential suitor. What would she do? What would she say? As soon as a man took one look at her, he’d know she was a clumsy wallflower. He’d run for his horse and gallop away like he was fleeing a swarm of angry bees.
The marriageable girls at Talcotts were all flirty. They giggled and chatted like finches. Audrey often didn’t speak, and when she did, she was chided for being too abrupt and opinionated. Men preferred women who could laugh at nothing and embroider for hours on end.
Dear Lord, what am I to do?
Glancing at the mantel clock, Audrey realized she’d been pacing for over a quarter hour. If she didn’t leave now, the earl would no doubt come to her door, which would be highly improper. No. She’d best face the music, then figure a way to dance around it.
Audrey dashed through the passageway and down the stairs, and as she reached for the latch, the library door opened.
“Whooooooa!” she cried, stumbling forward, straight into the hard chest of Reid MacKenzie himself.
He wrapped his big arms around her, pulling her flush against him. Audrey’s hands slipped to his trim waist to steady herself. It was as if time slowed for a moment—as everything became crystal clear. All at once she was keenly aware of his masculine scent, his solid form beneath his doublet, feeling so different from her own curvy shape. The rush of his warm breath swept across her hair.
For a brief moment she wondered what it would be like to kiss his lips.
But with her next inhale, he grasped her shoulders and stood back. “Are you well, Miss Audrey?”
Her mouth gaped as her gaze met his, but she couldn’t manage a word. She simply nodded.
“Forgive me. When I heard you approach, I thought I’d open the door and welcome you.” He gestured to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
Her fingers started to tremble. Here it came.
Doom.
After they both sat and she took a deep breath, she found her voice. “Is this about the baron’s correspondence?”
“Indeed it is.” Reid smiled as if it were Christmas morn.
Audrey wrung her hands. Maybe the news is a celebration for him, but not for me.
“Baron and Baroness Barnard have invited us to a ball a fortnight hence.”
Her mouth ran dry. “A-a ball, did you say?” Of all the things that were more mortifying that meeting a potential suitor, it was meeting a host of potential suitors and then being expected to dance with them.
“I did.” His smile was replaced by a frown and a pinch between his brows. “I thought you would be delighted.”
“No, my lord.”
“Och, but why not? All lassies enjoy kicking up their heels.”
Afraid she was about to fall ill, Audrey shoved herself to her feet. “All lassies aside from this one.” Clapping a hand over her mouth she made a dash for the door.
“Wait!” Seaforth rose and grasped her wrist. “You will explain yourself. How on earth am I to find you a husband if you do not attend Lord Barnard’s ball?”
“Do you not understand? I cannot dance.”
“Preposterous.”
“If you think it so, then ask the headmistress at Talcott Ladies’ Finishing School. I received top marks as a non-dancing wallflower.” Audrey wrenched her wrist free and dashed for the solace of her bedchamber.
* * *
&nbs
p; Regardless of Audrey’s reluctance to attend the ball, a day later Mr. Hatfield, the tailor, and his assistant must have spread thirty bolts of cloth across Audrey’s bed. She stood in front of the looking glass while the man held up taffetas and damasks in every imaginable hue.
There was something wrong with every color, and now the green Mr. Hatfield held to her face had to be the absolute worst. Audrey frowned at her reflection. “It makes me look as pale as a dishrag.”
“I agree, green isn’t your color, dear,” said Mrs. Hobbs, who was supervising the whole debacle. “Why not go for the champagne pink, it is ever so fashionable.”
“Indeed, the pink suited you, miss.” Mr. Hatfield gestured to his pigeon-toed assistant to fetch the pink for what seemed like the tenth time.
Audrey again regarded her image in the mirror. She often wore pink. The color had always suited her. “The red.” Lord only knew why those two words spewed from her mouth, but as soon as she’d uttered them, her mind was irrevocably made up.
Mrs. Hobbs’s jaw dropped. “The red taffeta? Why, that would be scandalous.”
“Though we could make it work,” added the tailor, clearly grasping at an opportunity to finally come to a decision.
Audrey shot the housemaid a pointed stare. “If I am to be paraded around the ballroom like a piece of raw mutton, I may as well look the part.”
The tailor took the bolt of red taffeta from his assistant. “Oh no, I wouldn’t allow that to happen—”
“Miss Audrey, what on earth has come over you?” said Mrs. Hobbs. “Red is no color for a demure lady such as yourself. And His Lordship gave me strict orders that you must look like the belle of the ball.”
Audrey moved her fists to her hips and regarded the only ally in her bedchamber. “Will you be able to make me look enchanting in red, Mr. Hatfield?”
“I will make a gown so stunning, not a soul will be able to take their eyes off you.”
“This absolutely will not do,” Mrs. Hobbs declared. “Good heavens, if you show up at Raby Castle wearing a scarlet gown, you could very well end up ravished.”
