by Louise Clark
Gradually, James felt a sense of rightness, of being exactly where he wanted to be, that he remembered, but hadn’t felt since before his flight from Scotland, four years ago. He was home, home to stay. There were still obstacles to be overcome, but as his gaze caressed Theadora Tilton’s animated features, he was certain he would have no problem fulfilling the terms under which his pardon had been granted.
*
From one corner of the large room Sir Frederick Tilton watched his daughter as she talked with James MacLonan. The conversation was obviously a lively one, for she smiled and laughed and flirted with the fellow in, to her father’s critical eye, an outrageous way.
Clearly, she was enjoying herself. The general could only see MacLonan’s face in profile, but from the way the man stood, his head bent, leaning toward her so he would be closer, and from the descriptive way he moved his hands as he spoke, he was as involved with Thea as she was with him.
Curse it! Tilton thought irritably. The chit could charm almost every man in this room. Why did she have to choose a newly returned Jacobite rebel to practice her talents on?
A Jacobite, moreover, who had more reason than most to be susceptible to pretty ladies whose political affiliations were the opposite extreme from his own.
A footman, dressed in rich blue-velvet livery, stopped in front of the general and bowing, offered him a glass of brandy from the silver tray he carried. Absently, Tilton picked up a fresh goblet, replacing it with his empty one. Downing a large swallow, he wondered if he should go over there and rescue his daughter from the Scot.
Might cause a scandal, he thought. The fellow was doing Thea no harm. If he deliberately detached her from the man for no obvious reason, these prickly Scots might feel the honor of their nation had been besmirched by England. Better to do nothing.
As commander of the English garrison in Scotland, General Tilton knew of the anger that simmered beneath the peaceful surface of Scottish life. Charles Edward Stuart’s defeat on Culloden Moor had probably ended forever an effective Jacobite presence in Scotland, but the violence of the English retribution had created a sullen resistance that permeated every level of society.
As he was privy to many secret reports, the general knew for a fact that claymores and pikes had been buried in bogs and on the moors, not handed over to the authorities to be disposed of as was required. They were there, slowly rusting, waiting until the spark of bitterness flamed into open rebellion once more.
James MacLonan, Sir Frederick noted grimly, was a man of those wild Scottish hills. Even as he stood quietly talking to Thea, there seemed to be an aura of dangerous power about him, emotions leashed to conform to the strictures of society, but never quite suppressed and only roughly tamed.
Sir Frederick swallowed more brandy, studying the couple over the rim of the glass. At that moment, James threw back his head and laughed. Handsome devil, Tilton acknowledged reluctantly, with those strong, lean features and tall, muscular body.
Beside him there was the tap of a cane and a rather slow, dragging step. Sir Frederick abandoned his scrutiny of his daughter and her admirer and looked around. He immediately stiffened.
“They make a handsome couple, do they not, Sir Frederick?”
Tilton’s brown eyes, so like his daughter’s, but colder and much harder, narrowed. He bowed politely. “Mr. Grant MacLonan, I believe?”
Grant contented himself with a nod. It was well known that his infirmities didn’t allow him to attempt the graceful bow usually expected in polite society. “At your service, General. It is so rarely my health allows me to go out into the world that I find myself meeting people I have only known through correspondence before now.”
Tilton suppressed the urge to say something cutting. He knew Grant MacLonan to be as stubborn, independent, and intractable as the rest of his race, and on some levels he rather admired the Scot’s gritty courage. MacLonan stood slightly bent, but barely leaning on his cane, giving no indication either on his face or in his manner of the ailment that plagued him or the pain he was rumored to suffer.
Grimly, Sir Frederick reminded himself that Grant MacLonan had been polished by age and infirmity into appearing to be a civilized, sophisticated gentleman. But the Scots were also men like his son, James MacLonan, dangerous, half-tamed barbarians who would never completely bend to society’s dictates.
And that barbarian was presently charming his unwary daughter into a blind submission.
At that though, Tilton’s first inclination was to inform Grant MacLonan to keep his son away from Thea. On the heels of this impetuous idea, he remembered Grant’s wealth and his powerful connections, both here in Scotland and in London. Shrewdly, the man had cultivated politicians of every persuasion. His freedom and his son’s presence in Scotland proved it. This conversation would have to be handled delicately.
Taking a sip of brandy to fortify himself, Tilton said blandly, “Your son seems happy to be back in Scotland.”
“My son will not long remain in Scotland if he does not fulfill the terms of his pardon.”
So much for subtlety, Tilton thought, a sneaking amusement twitching his lips into a faint smile. “I am aware of the requirement,” he admitted cautiously. If the conversation was heading in the direction it seemed to be, he couldn’t fault MacLonan’s boldness, but he had no intention of being caught off guard.
“I bought my son the pardon,” Grant said musingly. “I am a wealthy man, Sir Frederick, and James is my sole remaining child. If he cannot live in Scotland, what need have I for money? I do not mind using my funds to ensure he remains here.”
Tilton looked at Grant MacLonan, a sudden fierce anger blazing in his eyes. “Let us speak plainly, sir! As you know, I am not a man who would lower himself to allow the prospect of a payment of gold to affect his judgment in matters of importance!”
Grant didn’t flinch under the caustic lash of Tilton’s tongue. “Then you are a better man than the Prince of Wales,” he murmured quite truthfully, but somewhat wickedly.
As MacLonan’s jibe was unerringly accurate, Sir Frederick wrestled with the urge to laugh and the knowledge he should, as a King’s officer, give this irreverent Scot a sharp reprimand. He settled on the short bark of laughter he couldn’t quite contain.
His red-hot fury having cooled, he glanced at his daughter again. MacLonan was right, they did make a handsome couple. And Thea, flirting and laughing with young James MacLonan, appeared to be quite taken with the fellow. “My daughter likes Scotland,” he remarked at last, promising nothing, but offering the opportunity to begin anew.
Grant permitted a small smile to cross his weathered features. “May I compliment you, sir, on your daughter’s good taste? Obviously, in this case, rumor does not lie. A truly intelligent young woman, as well as a beautiful one.”
*
With true disdain, Colonel George Harris watched the bright flirtation between Thea and James MacLonan. A stocky, florid-faced man in early middle age, Harris wore a midnight-blue coat, of good-quality silk, which had seen much wear, as had his white waistcoat. The trim on his garments was braid, not lace, and hidden beneath the waistcoat, his shirt was not the fine lawn a wealthy gentleman would wear, but a coarse hemp. The buckles at the knees of his yellow breeches were simple silver, unadorned with glittering jewels. In Colonel George Harris’s opinion, it was not wise to dress too richly when attending a party where one of the main guests was your commanding officer.
Harris was colonel of the regiment of dragoons stationed in Edinburgh. As the officer directly below General Tilton in the hierarchy of command, his position was quite a powerful one. However, he had neither the fortune nor the political connections to ever aspire to a higher rank. Here in Edinburgh he was able to mix with men of wealth and status, and he was content with his life, in most ways.
The colonel was a single man, a bachelor who had never, until recently, cared to subjugate his official duties to private ones. He’d reached the age of forty without finding a wo
man who had the passionate spirit to invade and capture his cold military heart.
Until he met Theadora Tilton, that is.
The first time he’d seen her, he had been on duty. There had been some sort of official presentation in the esplanade before Edinburgh Castle. A reviewing stand had been erected against the gray stone wall, and there the prominent Edinburgh dignitaries were seated. Harris’s dragoons, in full-dress uniform, had been the guard of honor.
It was windy that day, he remembered, and the horses, well trained though they were, tended to prance and shake their heads. He’d been nervous. He had only recently been assigned to the Edinburgh garrison, and he had badly wanted to impress his new, rather formidable commanding officer. In the midst of trying to control his troops and his agitated horse, he’d looked over at the reviewing stand and lost himself in the mischievous brown eyes of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
His lapse had been only momentary. His sense of duty was too deeply ingrained for him to be overwhelmed for long. However, when he was finally off duty he’d searched for, and found, the golden-haired vixen who had so enchanted him.
At first, the knowledge that she was Sir Frederick Tilton’s daughter had daunted his ardor. As the general was connected to some of the most powerful Whig families in England, his daughter could have the pick of the young beaux in London. Gradually, though, he’d realized Sir Frederick was not a rich man. Indeed, like Harris, he was a serving officer who lived mainly on his pay.
The knowledge bridged the social gap between plain George Harris, whose family were sturdy gentry, and the aristocratic Sir Frederick Tilton, who was the cousin of an earl and the grandson of a duke. Suddenly Miss Theadora Tilton was within his reach, and Harris grabbed.
Not literally, of course. He did move to fix his interest with the lovely Thea, though. In the small, open society of Edinburgh, Harris and his commander moved in the same circles, so he was able to see Thea with great regularity. He talked to her, he danced with her, he all but worshipped at her feet! Thea, however, never displayed more than the warm friendliness she’d shown him from their first meeting.
He had convinced himself she was one of those women who did not feel passionately, and he’d gone to her father to ask for her hand. Tilton, the arrogant devil, had turned him down, claiming Thea did not feel her affections could be engaged by Colonel Harris. Yet the very next time he’d seen her, Theadora had been as warm and friendly as before. Harris simply could not believe her father had ever spoken to her on the subject of his proposal. He would wait, he’d decided, and try again after a suitable time had elapsed.
Now, as he watched Thea’s animated face, his dreams crumbled under the ruthless glare of reality. She was looking at a strangerâa man she’d only known a matter of minutesâwith the passionate intensity Harris had always coveted for himself. Suddenly, the vengeful anger he had harbored against her father settled itself on Thea’s delicately boned shoulders. The flighty wench was enjoying herself mightily, flirting with the Scottish rebel. How would she feel when she learned who he was and why he smiled so engagingly at her?
Harris bided his time, waiting until James MacLonan had been drawn away by Judge Denholm before moving over to Thea. She greeted him with her usual candid warmth, as a friend.
A pox on all fickle women, Harris thought savagely.
*
“Miss Tilton, you are alone at last!” Colonel Harris said heartily.
Thea smiled gently. “As you see, Colonel.”
“You must be quite parched. Come, I will take you to the dining room where Judge Denholm has laid out a collection of delicacies to tempt the most jaded palate. You can refresh yourself there.”
With James gone, Thea’s bedazzled intellect was slowly returning to its usual quick shrewdness. She heard the jealousy just below the surface of Colonel Harris’s voice, and knew he’d seen her flirting with James MacLonan. Feeling a little sorry for him, she thought it might soothe his hurt pride if she allowed him to take her to sample the lavish refreshments.
Moreover, her conscience was bothering her. She wanted to find Isabelle and make sure the polished Lord Staverton hadn’t overwhelmed her. And the last time she had seen the pair, they had been on their way to the refreshment room.
So she said in a friendly way, “Why, thank you, Colonel Harris. Yes, I would be delighted to join you.”
He led her to the dining room, elegantly decorated in shades of pale blue and soft pink. A huge mahogany table was loaded with concoctions ranging from slices of spit-roasted beef and fresh oysters on the half shell, through rich fricassees served with sweet patties, and braised pigeon from the judge’s own dovecote. A selection of fruit creams, meringues, and macaroons were provided for those with a sweet tooth, as well as cheeses to complete the meal.
Harris found Thea a chair set apart from those already filled, and went off to collect her a sampling from the heavily laden buffet table. While he was gone she scanned the room, mentally cursing Harris for tucking her away in this obscure corner. Isabelle was nowhere about. Ah, yes, there she was! Relief and a little guilt surged through Thea, for their mama was seated at the table with Isabelle. Lord Staverton was nowhere to be seen.
Thea was speculating whether Staverton had left Isabelle before Arabella Tilton had arrived, or because Lady Tilton had indicated he was not welcome, when Colonel Harris returned with a plate of delicacies. After thanking him somewhat distractedly, Thea made an effort to concentrate on what he was saying.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Tilton?”
Conversations with Colonel Harris were always like this. He asked a perfectly ordinary question and Thea answered in a perfectly ordinary way. “Yes indeed, Colonel. Judge Denholm has gathered a most interesting group of people for his soiree this evening. I alwaysâ”
Uncharacteristically, Harris interrupted. “I noticed a few new faces tonight.”
Thea blushed. She couldn’t help it. One of those new faces was James MacLonan’s and she had just spent the best part of an hour in intimate conversation with him. “Quite,” she managed to say, her voice strangled.
Harris’s bass tones hardened. “Yes, James MacLonan. Fresh from Europe.”
The way he’d said James’s name was an insult. Thea’s hackles immediately rose. “He mentioned that,” she said. “He was on the Grand Tour. We had an exceedingly enjoyable conversation about the sights he’d seen.”
Harris snorted derisively. “I doubt Mr. MacLonan went to the Continent in order to broaden his education!”
Thea reminded herself that Colonel Harris was a disappointed suitor, and counseled herself to be patient when she really would have preferred to snap his head off. “Colonel Harris, I think we should speak on other subjects. I do not like gossiping about people behind their backs.”
Harris blundered on. “In fact, the fellow only went to France when Scotland became too hot for him!”
At first Thea wondered if James had committed some kind of crime. Then understanding dawned. “You mean James MacLonan is a Jacobite?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Harris grinned nastily.
Thea’s cheeks flamed and her eyes snapped dangerously. “You overstep your bounds, Colonel Harris!”
His mouth shaped itself into a feral smile, frighteningly close to a snarl. “Not only is the man a damned rebel, but he fought for France against us, once he’d escaped from the clutches of our Duke of Cumberland!”
She didn’t want to know that James MacLonan was a rebel. Or that he had fought for France. She didn’t want to think of him firing a musket at her father or her brother, who was also an officer in the army. She didn’t want to imagine him in hand-to-hand combat, slicing and stabbing with a sword, trying to kill one of those she loved best. At that moment she hated Colonel George Harris with a passion. She wanted to strike out at him. Instead, she kept her voice cool and calm. “Then why is he here now, Colonel Harris?”
“He acquired a pardon, Miss Tilton.” Har
ris made it sound as if James had gotten the pardon through nefarious means. “It is a most interesting document, my dear. The terms would fascinate you, I know.”
Chills were running up and down Thea’s spine. “Terms?”
“By which he is allowed to remain in Scotland. Would you like to hear them?”
The plate full of delicacies she was holding with one hand wavered dangerously. Carefully, Thea set it down on the empty seat beside her. She was afraid to look at Harris, to see the venomous glint in his eyes. She felt helpless, unable to move, unable to say the words that would halt his vicious tirade. “N-no…”
He paid no more attention to her protest than he had before. “Your father and his senior officers have been made aware of the requirements of his pardon, of course. MacLonan is a dangerous man! He claims to be reformed and no longer a supporter of the Stuarts, but… who can tell if a rebel is ever truly honest in his political assertions? That is why, Miss Tilton…” Harris leaned forward, his eyes now boring into Thea’s. “That is why James MacLonan is required to marry a woman whose family has strong ties with the Whig party and are loyal supporters of King George and the Hanoverian dynasty!”
Thea felt the blood drain from her face. Harris laughed. “Why, Miss Tilton, you are quite pale. Do you feel faint?”
Chapter 4
“My dear, you must have another one of these scones. My cook is quite famous for them, you know.” Olivia Ramsey held the plate of scones invitingly until Thea took one. Olivia rattled on, hiding a very real intellect underneath a pleasant social manner. “And don’t forget to have some butter and jam with it. The berries used in the jam are from our estate outside Edinburgh. They have the most wonderful flavor! One of the reasons I just adore going there in the summer is for the fruit. Cook makes the most delightful concoctions. Lovely! Of course, that is not the only reason I enjoy going. Edinburgh becomes so unpleasant during the summer, don’t you think?”
As the Tilton family did not have a Scottish country estate to adjourn to during the hot summer months, Thea just smiled and ladled some of the wonderful jam onto her scone. Arabella murmured something appropriate and the conversation turned.
